


Girl Almighty

by Slicki



Category: TWICE (Band)
Genre: Angst is present, Enemies to Friends to Shrug Emoji, F/F, Soulmates, Superpowers, mild violence along the way
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2020-07-05
Packaged: 2020-07-27 12:10:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 111,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20045800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slicki/pseuds/Slicki
Summary: Jeongyeon doesn’t kiss people, doesn’t fall in love, doesn’t give the universe another chance to screw her over. She has enough superpowers, thank you very much.Nayeon kisses who she wants, saves the world, and dares the fates to try and fuck with her. She’s already fallen in love and had her heart broken. What’s left to fear?orAt this moment, Jihyo doesn’t give a shit about soulmates or falling in love. She just wants two of her most talented Triunes to stop bickering long enough to go on this goddamn mission.





	1. Jeongyeon

**Author's Note:**

> Important note: This chapter and the next serve as origin stories for Nayeon and Jeongyeon. If you find yourself uncertain about the way some things work, I ask that you hang in for another chapter! All will be revealed.
> 
> That aside, I've been working on this for awhile, and I'm very excited to share. Enjoy =]

When Jeongyeon is eight, she breaks one of the scientific laws.  
  
Well, Jihyo does.  
  
Jeongyeon just helps.  
  
It will remain her greatest accomplishment for almost two decades.   
  
(Jihyo will disagree, but Jeongyeon doesn't really listen to Jihyo. Not anymore.)  
  
Jeongyeon is eight years old and she's in love.  
  
She declares, in front of the entire playground, that Park Jihyo is the prettiest girl in school.  
  
And then she asks Jihyo to marry her by the swings, and Jihyo says yes, wide grin on her face.  
  
Jeongyeon ties a pink and green beaded bracelet she made that morning during crafts around Jihyo’s wrist, shows the other girl the matching one she wears on her opposite hand. And Jihyo’s smile grows even wider.  
  
As they stand there, listening to Wonpil struggle through what he remembered the priest saying at his cousin's wedding, Jeongyeon knows she's super lucky.  
  
Her parents always told her that lucky people fell in love with their best friends. People minded losing their powers less if it was to their best friend.  
  
Jeongyeon doesn't have any powers, so she knows she doesn't have to worry about being blanked. She also knows that Jihyo's smile is her favorite and that Jihyo always shares her blanket at nap time. That’s all she needs.  
  
Wonpil finishes and tells them that they may kiss the bride.  
  
Jeongyeon leans in and pecks Jihyo on the lips just like she's seen on TV. It’s quick, and she's nervous. But she doesn't want Jihyo to know that.  
  
Jihyo smiles at her, cheeks dusted a pretty pink, and Jeongyeon can’t help but return the grin.  
  
But then Jihyo grabs at her head and staggers backwards, letting out a noise of surprise that turns into a pained yell.  
  
Jeongyeon lurches forward, but is stopped by a burst of flame coming from Jihyo’s hands. She screams, wrenching back her now burnt arm. The flames disappear and she sees someone that is decidedly not Jihyo crouched on the ground where Jihyo had been. The figure looks up at her, face strikingly similar to a character in a movie they had watched last week, and whimpers her name.  
  
Jeongyeon stares, arm throbbing and mind scrambled. She looks around and tries to find someone who can help but suddenly she can see inside of the school and somehow knows that her teacher is in the middle of eating soup for lunch.  
  
She hears her name again and blinks, relieved when she sees normally again. She moves forward and hears screaming and the sound of feet hitting the pavement as the other children on the playground begin to react.  
  
She reaches the figure, who now looks kind of like their teacher that Jeongyeon saw eating soup, and bends down.  
  
"Jeongyeon, it hurts. Please—” The words are cut off with a whimper, and Jeongyeon instinctively reaches out, hissing when she moves her injured arm.  
  
Jihyo (It has to be Jihyo. She knows it's Jihyo) notices through watery eyes and gasps, and suddenly pockets of dirt are exploding around Jeongyeon. She just knows she's going to get in trouble for getting her pants dirty.  
  
And then there are adults pulling them apart and Jihyo cries louder and Jeongyeon tries to resist but she can't.  
  
Right before she loses sight of her, Jeongyeon sees Jihyo shift back to herself.  
  
//  
  
Two days later, Jeongyeon sits in her living room, poking at the bandage on her arm despite her mother's earlier scolding.  
  
The two men across from her are wearing suits, and they look a lot like the men she meets at her mom’s fancy work parties.  
  
They had talked with her parents earlier, and Jeongyeon had used her new power to spy on them, though she grew frustrated when she realized she still didn't know what they were saying.  
  
But her parents had looked nervous. And scared.  
  
And so when the men in suits asked to speak to her alone, she had almost run away. Her legs had twitched, ready to carry her far from here (there’s a tree at the playground that she could climb up really high in), but then her dad had caught her eye, nodding slowly. And Jeongyeon had squared her shoulders and walked into the room.  
  
She walks in, sits down, and absolutely nothing happens. They sit and stare at her for the first five minutes, and she names them Glasses and Moustache. She kicks her feet and pokes at her bandage and wonders if they're going to tell her where Jihyo is.  
  
She thinks she remembers her parents talking about married people seeing their partners in hospitals.  
  
She asks about it, and Glasses and Moustache just stare at her.  
  
She goes back to poking at her bandage.  
  
Eventually, Moustache speaks. He asks her what she knows about Triunes.  
  
Jeongyeon repeats what she remembers from class. "Triunes are special because they have a lot of really powerful powers in a tiny amount of time. They've fallen in love a lot and punch good. They work for the government and save people."  
  
Glasses nods, a solemn look on his face. He explains that people always get one power when they kiss someone that they’re in love with that loves them back. Just one.  
  
Jeongyeon nods back, trying to adopt an equally serious face. She frowns until she can really feel it.  
  
He stops, adjusting his glasses.  
  
He tells her that her friend, Jihyo, had manifested three S-class powers at once, making her a Triune at the age of seven: elemental manipulation, shapeshifting, and mind reading.  
  
Jeongyeon's eyes widen. Jihyo? A Triune? Already?  
  
Moustache nods at her.  
  
Glasses continues, tells her that Jihyo is at a special facility where she'll be raised to understand her powers. They'll help make sure she's okay.  
  
He also tells her that they think she's special too, because it was her that triggered the manifestation. It’s rare for children to trigger powers, childhood love generally considered an ineffective trigger. Most people start getting powers around thirteen and never more than one at a time.  
  
He asks if she'd be interested in coming to live at the facility with Jihyo.  
  
(When she's older, she breaks into a government research base and learns that they really don't know for sure why powers are triggered. The definition of 'love' is not so easily nailed down. Jeongyeon thinks it's funny and cruel at the same time.)  
  
Jeongyeon uses her power and Sees her parents on the other side of the wall, wringing their hands and pacing.  
  
She tells Glasses that she can't do anything without asking for permission first. Glasses looks at Moustache, and then they both get up and open the door, gesturing for her parents to come in.  
  
They step out into the hallway and shut the door. Jeongyeon looks at her parents and wonders what happens now.  
  
They're both crying.  
  
//  
  
The next day, she leaves home. Her parents and sisters promise to come visit.  
  
The ride is long, and neither Moustache nor Glasses will talk to her.  
  
She falls asleep.  
  
When she sees Jihyo again, her best friend is sitting in the middle of a glass-walled room, arms wrapped around her knees. There are pools of water around her and her hair is short and blue and yellow but all Jeongyeon cares about is that Jihyo is crying.  
  
Jeongyeon uses her power, finds the entrance door and begins sprinting down the hallway. Moustache and Glasses take off after her, trying to grab her, but she's small and she gets halfway there before they can stop her.  
  
"That's my wife," she yells, trying to kick at Moustache, who’s grabbing her by the waist. "I have visitation rights!"  
  
Moustache stops carrying her back to the entrance and Jeongyeon feels him shake. Glasses looks at him, and Moustache puts her down.  
  
She runs before he can change his mind, and she throws open the door and charges in. Jihyo doesn't look up, and Jeongyeon falls to her knees and pulls her into a hug. The water soaks through her pants, and as Jihyo says her name and shakily returns the hug, Jeongyeon realizes that her mom isn't here to yell at her for getting her pants dirty anymore.  
  
She doesn’t know if she’s happy about that or not.  
  
//  
  
Jeongyeon learns quickly that these people mean business.   
  
She's thrown into training beside Jihyo almost daily, with weekends full of crash courses in the classes she realizes she'll no longer be getting at school.  
  
She likes literature the best, enjoys learning new and prettier ways to say the same thing.  
  
The years pass, and Jeongyeon watches as Jihyo blossoms. Her powers are awe inspiring, and when paired with her physical combat training, well, Jeongyeon pities whoever Jihyo fights.  
  
//  
  
When she's twelve, she gets her first scar from the facility, gashes her arm open during an agility course. Glasses tells her to rub some dirt in it.  
  
Jihyo kicks him in the shin.  
  
//  
  
  
When she's thirteen, Jihyo whispers to her from her bed across the room, tells her that she hopes Jeongyeon will be a Triune one day too.  
  
Jeongyeon just laughs, reminds Jihyo that her first power is B-grade, so she'd have a lot of falling in love to do to catch up.  
  
Jihyo says nothing else, and Jeongyeon falls asleep.  
  
The next morning Glasses —she refuses to call him by his name even now— pulls her aside. He tells her that she can train her power up, that she can increase the radiation coming from her eyes and make it deadly.  
  
She could have an S-class power, be one third of the way to Triune. When she asks him if he's doing this because of Jihyo, he just stares at her.  
  
Jeongyeon swallows down the discomfort crawling up her throat and tells him she'll do it, and, for the very first time, Jeongyeon sees Glasses smile.  
  
She feels like she's made a mistake, but later that day, Jihyo wraps her up in a hug and tells her how excited she is.  
  
Maybe this will be fine.  
  
//  
  
By the time Jeongyeon is fifteen, her path has already been laid out for her. In truth, she’s almost certain that it had been laid out for her the moment she stepped foot into the building, but she saves that conspiracy for a rainy day.  
  
Her role evolves. She learns to skulk and climb and break into places she shouldn't be near. Everything she learns, she learns to protect and support Jihyo on future missions they’ll tackle together.  
  
Her favorite thing to do is break into all the places Glasses doesn’t want her to go.  
  
She trains her body as they demand of her, and she learns to fight in ways she had never really wanted to. She also learns how to irradiate things to deadly levels, a skill she hasn't had to use but one that has been measured countless times with complex machinery.  
  
Every time she takes these tests, every time Glasses tells her it'll take her six hundred, three hundred, one hundred, thirty seconds to kill an opponent with her eyes, Jeongyeon wants to throw up.  
  
But then she looks out into the hallways surrounding the testing chamber and sees Jihyo there, always sporting some new look, smiling and waving. And Jeongyeon swallows down her revulsion.  
  
She doesn't want to hurt anyone. But she wants to protect Jihyo.  
  
Not that the other girl really needs it.  
  
She figures out, on one of her rare free nights, why exactly they've kept her around for so long. She sweeps her eyes past the surrounding rooms, sees Glasses and Moustache talking and reads their lips.  
  
They talk about Jihyo's progress, and Jeongyeon doesn't have to hear them to know their words are tinged with pride.  
  
And then they talk about her.  
  
And Jeongyeon learns that Jihyo had, years ago, insisted that Jeongyeon stay with her instead of being shipped off to another facility to study why her kiss did what it did.  
  
That night, Jeongyeon lays in bed and runs her thumb along her jaw, feels a thin raised line, remembers a training session with knives that went awry.  
  
Not for the first time, she wishes she had never proposed all those years ago.  
  
The next day, she meets a new girl at the facility, a niece of one of the directors.  
  
She falls quickly, and Jihyo teases her until her ears turn red. But she also tells her to go for it, and so she does.  
  
Her and the girl seem to click instantly, and in between missions and training, Jeongyeon learns about her favorite colors, favorite songs, favorite way to spend a lazy Sunday.  
  
They're together for 8 months when Jeongyeon has her heart broken. Jeongyeon knows that a new power manifestation should’ve happened by now. She’s in love; she can feel it, but her X-ray vision still works and no new powers have triggered. The girl’s powers remain the same too.  
  
And right up until the girl is standing in front of her telling her that there’s no point to their relationship without powers manifesting, Jeongyeon thinks there’s nothing wrong with that. And she had thought the girl felt the same way, until her words make Jeongyeon flinch and threatened to send tears down her cheeks.  
  
Jeongyeon disagrees with her entire being, but she can't bring herself to say anything, overwhelmed by the despair slowly wrapping around her.  
  
The girl walks away and Jeongyeon makes a beeline to Jihyo's room.  
  
Sometimes she hates that Jihyo could know her thoughts anytime she wanted, but on nights like this, when Jeongyeon's mind is too jumbled and too overwhelmed to form a coherent sentence, she knocks her forehead against Jihyo's and she understands.  
  
Jihyo whispers words of comfort to heartbreak and concerns that Jeongyeon doesn't have to voice.  
  
Hours later, Jeongyeon leaves Jihyo’s room determined to return to normalcy as soon as she can.  
  
She's almost back to her room when she realizes that she doesn't have her favorite jacket. She thinks she's left it in Jihyo's room, but everything is kind of a blur of emotion.  
  
She casts her vision back to Jihyo's room, slowly increasing levels of penetrability to protect the other girl's privacy. To her surprise, she sees a sorrowful looking Jihyo talking to Glasses. He says something about 'the experiment'; Jihyo shakes her head and asks if they can stop trying.  
  
Glasses just smiles and pats her head, tells her to update her journal, and Jeongyeon’s heart rate picks up for no reason.  
  
She watches Jihyo go back into her room and sit in front of her desk. She reaches down to open a compartment Jeongyeon has never noticed before. The black square in her Sight tells her it's coated in lead.  
  
Jeongyeon’s palms are sweating.  
  
Jihyo pulls out a notebook with shaky hands and opens it.  
  
Jeongyeon ratchets up her vision and sees dozens of pages of notes. About her. About theories for how to test if she always grants powers in triplicate.  
  
Jeongyeon had always thought of her and Jihyo's friendship as her most precious thing, a ball of diamond that sits in her chest where her heart would be, safe and secure.  
  
She sees notes in Jihyo's achingly familiar handwriting detailing the type of person Jeongyeon would want to date.  
  
She felt they could withstand anything, knew they had already been through so much together.  
  
Jihyo scratches a quick note onto the page.  
  
Underneath the dim light of the fluorescent bulbs outside her room, Jeongyeon sees their friendship for what it really is.  
  
_Experiment 1 - Failed_  
  
A ball of thin glass, almost translucent.  
  
_Power manifestation unsuccessful. Experiment 2 likely safe to start in two months. Subject will need time to heal._  
  
It cracks, and then it shatters.  
  
Jihyo puts her pen down and a stray tear falls onto the page, and, for the first time, Jeongyeon has no desire to comfort her.  
  
Instead, she turns on her heel and makes her way to the data center. She knows where all of the cameras are, has no concerns about getting caught.  
  
The ground beneath her feels unsteady, a pit of sand below her heels. And yet she keeps walking, lets the anger flow through her and sharpen her focus. The sand beneath her feet turns to glass from the heat of it, and Jeongyeon fears the heartbreak she knows she’d see in its reflection.  
  
When she arrives at her destination, she smiles to herself despite the stabbing pain inside of her. The lock of the server room door falls easily to the combined efforts of her power and a pair of wire clippers she snags from a nearby bench. Jeongyeon hacks into the system using skills they taught her, skills she’s used to protect Jihyo and keep her safe.  
  
She erases herself from Jihyo's narrative, redacts every mention of her name. Dozens of mission logs are updated to remove any hint of her part in them. People will still know, of course, that it was her. But history won't.  
  
She knows Jihyo will do great things and rise to new heights. She wants no part of that.  
  
She prints off a copy of Jihyo's new power sheet, walks to The Library, and changes out the pages.  
  
Her feet carry her to her final destination as she thinks about what to do next.  
  
She knocks and Jihyo opens the door, looks at her with sleepy and red rimmed eyes.  
  
Jeongyeon just stares at her. She feels Jihyo's presence skirting around the edges of her mind, has long been familiar with the sensation.  
  
She nods.  
  
Jihyo skims her mind and her eyes widen in horror, and she begins speaking so quickly that Jeongyeon can barely keep up.  
  
But she gets it. Gets that Jihyo didn't want to hurt her, just wanted to keep her here.  
  
This was a compromise, but Jeongyeon ends up being the only one losing.  
  
She knows that Jihyo thinks it can be saved, that Jeongyeon will just have to have her relationships occasionally monitored. It'll be harmless.  
  
Jihyo says that this was just a test, that she actually did think she was compatible with the girl.  
  
She gets it. But it's not enough.  
  
Jeongyeon had learned, years ago, that the best way to combat Jihyo's mind-reading power was to act impulsively, decide to do something and do it before Jihyo could process it. She knew that, but she'd never been able to pull it off.  
  
She rips the bracelet off of her wrist, and throws it at Jihyo's feet. "Stay the fuck away from me."  
  
Jihyo staggers back like it's a physical blow, fingers grasping for the door frame, and Jeongyeon knows she's finally mastered that lesson.  
  
She turns on her heel and begins walking. She has time.  
  
Jihyo won't turn her in. That, at least, she still believes.  
  
Besides, The Agency has no use for her if she refuses to let herself fall in love.  
  
//  
  
Her parents are shocked when she turns up at their doorstep, but they welcome her back nonetheless.  
  
She finds regular schooling anxiety inducing, isn't used to being surrounded by so many people. Because of that, her parents suggest she see someone. Jeongyeon thinks of the 'therapists' at the facility, remembers how they mostly seemed to focus on her and Jihyo and that damn kiss.  
  
She takes a deep breath and forces herself to hope and says yes.  
  
It takes time, and she backslides more often than not, but Jeongyeon eventually sinks into life outside of the facility.  
  
She even eventually learns to smother the ache in her chest that blooms every time she hears about “A young Triune saving the day once again!”.  
  
//  
  
Jeongyeon goes to college because it seems like the thing she would've done if she hadn't kissed Jihyo over a decade ago. The campus is big, with sweeping arches and towering trees and Jeongyeon finds it so, so easy to disappear within it. Life is simple. Easy. Uncomplicated.  
  
Dating crosses her mind a few times; she almost lets a pretty girl or two get the best of her. But then she remembers an experiment and a broken heart and refuses to let herself fall.  
  
When she’s twenty, though, someone finally slips past her defenses. Dahyun sneaks up on her in the best of ways, and Jeongyeon never finds it in herself to regret it.  
  
She’s drawn to Dahyun because she's funny, but she stays because of how Dahyun is when they're alone. Quiet, and thoughtful, and just a little bit too world weary for an 18 year old.  
  
Whenever they play video games or listen to some new band Dahyun heard about, Jeongyeon finds herself not wanting Dahyun to leave. She likes the way Dahyun fits into her space, the way she’ll cock her head to the side and squint at Jeongyeon before saying something that will leave both of them crying from laughter.  
  
And then, several months into knowing each other, Dahyun kisses her over a bowl of popcorn they’re sharing, and Jeongyeon realizes that, oh, she’s fallen in love.  
  
Dahyun pulls back looking adorably flustered and begins to stutter out an apology. There’s no time for hesitation or doubt, and Jeongyeon upends the bowl of popcorn to pull Dahyun in for a kiss she can actually respond to.  
  
And Jeongyeon feels the hairs on the back of her neck raise and feels a current run through her and knows what just happened.  
  
She pulls back and sees Dahyun, frozen in time for just a few seconds before the other girl unfreezes and falls forward, hand crushing spilled popcorn into the couch.  
  
Another gasp sounds from behind her, and she turns to see another Dahyun.  
  
Cloning. Huh. Jeongyeon’s never encountered another person who could clone themselves before.  
  
A strangled gasp turns her back to face Dahyun, and the moment their eyes meet, they both start laughing.  
  
The happiness in her chest propels her forward, and Jeongyeon moves to kiss Dahyun again, not bothered by the mess she's making.  
  
Later, hours after her and a blushing Dahyun had finally separated, Jeongyeon will stand over her bathroom sink and flick water into the air, trying to freeze time. She succeeds, and a weird numbness overcomes her as she begins to asses her limits, prodding and poking just like Glasses or Moustache would’ve.  
  
The realization steals over her slowly at first, hidden under a buzzing nothingness until it grows to loud to deny.  
  
She's two thirds of the way to being a Triune. And if she gets one more S-class power (If her and Dahyun don’t work out. If her heart breaks again. If she’s stupid enough to open her heart once more.), The Agency will come knocking.  
  
She’s older than Glasses was when he came to take her away, she thinks. The files she ferreted away from The Library may have been left behind underneath her bed, but Jeongyeon can remember the information with unnerving clarity.  
  
For a brief moment, as she gazes upon her reflection through the suspended droplets, Jeongyeon is hit with the almost overwhelming urge to cry. She swallows it down, refuses to shed another tear over the past.  
  
She moves to turn off the bathroom light, lets time run its course. The sound of water droplets hitting her tile floor follows her back to her room.  
  
//  
  
She tries with Dahyun for a year, a mix of genuine love and desire to not have to do this all over again.  
  
But in the end, they want different things. Dahyun wants to take on the world and make a difference and Jeongyeon just wants to think about what she's having for dinner next week.  
  
They part amicably, and she’s thankful her first real relationship was with someone so wonderful, so understanding. So perfectly Dahyun.  
  
She laughs to herself when she thinks about writing a letter to Jihyo to update her. She scowls when she realizes she’ll know anyway;The Agency always does.  
  
Turns out it's not her kiss that's special.  
  
It's just Jihyo.  
  
Jeongyeon isn't surprised.  
  
//  
  
She gets a letter from Jihyo when she's twenty two. It's full of apologies and admissions of guilt.  
  
Jeongyeon reads between the lines and discovers a Jihyo that's finally been awoken to the darker side of superpowers that come from love.  
  
There are eraser markers in places, and Jeongyeon holds the letter up the light and learns that Jihyo has new powers now, has learned the feeling of a broken heart.  
  
At the bottom of the letter, held in place with tape, is a smaller envelope, and Jeongyeon opens it to find two bracelets she hasn't seen in years.  
  
There's another note. Jihyo tells her she never really deserved this bracelet in the first place.  
  
She wishes Jeongyeon well, and Jeongyeon throws the letter in her desk and tries to forget she ever read it.  
  
  
//  
  
She wants to say that Chaeyoung is a mistake, but that would be doing the other woman a disservice.  
  
She's twenty four and she's at a bar, jotting down notes for the track she's working on.  
  
She feels a tap on her shoulder and turns around, doesn't even flinch when she sees a pen floating in front of her, but she does raise an eyebrow when she looks past the pen and sees a woman with short blonde hair waving at her.  
  
The other woman smirks, makes a 'call me' gesture, and the pen wiggles in front of her.  
  
Jeongyeon rolls her eyes and grabs a napkin and considers writing 'Fuck off, please'.  
  
But then she turns and looks at the other woman again and realizes it's the graphic artist they met with that morning. It’s the very same woman who had interrupted Jeongyeon's annoying boss and told him that they did it her way or she walked.  
  
Jeongyeon crumples up the napkin, grabs her drink, and slides into the booth across from the woman. She remembers her name now: Chaeyoung.  
  
"Do you always hit on people you're going to be working with?"  
  
Chaeyoung's jaw drops open and her face turns red and Jeongyeon laughs and laughs.  
  
They do end up going home together that night, and for the as long as they sleep together, she'll insist it was done despite Chaeyoung's horrible pick up line, not because of it.  
  
Chaeyoung always smirks and disagrees.  
  
And for those two years, there's little Jeongyeon enjoys more than shoving Chaeyoung backwards against the nearest surface, hands slipping underneath clothing to scratch her nails across a smooth stomach, mouth dropping to Chaeyoung's ear to whisper something she knows will make that smirk falter.  
  
It's casual and light, and Jeongyeon is dimly aware that it could easily tip into love. But she trusts herself, believes that she can resist crossing that line. (And even if, say, she were to fall in love with Chaeyoung, the chances of her getting another S-class power are virtually nonexistent.)  
  
Some days, Chaeyoung begs and pleads and Jeongyeon gives in and lets Chaeyoung paint landscapes on her back.  
  
She doesn't ask about the scars that litter her chosen canvas, just works them into her art, using the raised texture to her advantage. Chaeyoung covers Jeongyeon's back with kisses as she paints, and each one feels a little bit like healing.  
  
Jeongyeon doesn't really use her time manipulation powers when she's with Chaeyoung. Each moment feels like it's spent how it should be.  
  
(What she does use it for is getting more time to produce a complicated track, but no one needs to know that.  
  
And every time she uses them it reminds her that what she and Chaeyoung have isn't fated. She wishes she didn't believe in soulmates, but she can see through concrete and stop time. It's hard to know where to draw the line.)  
  
About a year and a half into things, there's a week where Chaeyoung won't kiss her, refuses to tell her why. But Jeongyeon figures it out anyway and tells Chaeyoung that she's fallen in love too. Calls her a repressed loser and smiles.  
  
There are risks worth taking, chances Jeongyeon knows she has to take if she ever wants to let herself be happy.  
  
Chaeyoung looks at her and then finally, finally kisses her again.  
  
Jeongyeon kisses her back and ignores the current running up her spine and the raised hairs on her neck. The chance of manifesting an S-class power from an applicable kiss is thought to be approximately 0.35%, Jeongyeon reminds herself. Statistically, there’s no reason she should get— Chaeyoung slips her fingers into her hair and Jeongyeon forgets herself in smell of Chaeyoung’s perfume and the taste of strawberries on her tongue.  
  
But she can't ignore that Chaeyoung starts vibrating. And then her arms are empty and Chaeyoung is darting around the kitchen and she doesn't stop.  
  
Jeongyeon laughs at the delighted cheers she hears as Chaeyoung tries out her new power.  
  
And Chaeyoung talks about how she can change and see the world, and deja vu settles on Jeongyeon’s shoulders like a well-worn coat.  
  
She tries. They both do. But at the end of it all they’re only holding each other back. Chaeyoung wants the world, and she allows Jeongyeon to set her free so she can get it.  
  
(Chaeyoung had understood, had looked at her with liquid eyes and a small smile and pressed a gentle kiss to the corner of Jeongyeon’s lips. It had burned, and Jeongyeon had wanted to scream.)  
  
She doesn’t properly figure out her new power until months after they break up, and during that time she just assumes the universe is finally being kind to her, saving her from another S-class power.  
  
She's doodling, a habit she picked up from Chaeyoung that she had put down since they had broken up.  
  
She thinks the flower she's sketched is quite pretty, and she runs her finger over it, pulls back in shock as color spreads from her fingertips and the flower rises out of the page.  
  
Her stomach drops.  
  
Her curiosity wins out, and she throws the flower to the side, sketches a throwing knife before she can stop herself. She hates how easily she remembers the proper shape, hates that she can remember the feeling of one in her hand so perfectly.  
  
The sketch is crude, and her lines are nowhere near straight, but she runs her fingers over the drawn edge of the blade and trembles as it comes to life before her.  
  
It's sharp and perfectly weighted, and Jeongyeon doesn't flinch as bright red blossoms on her thumb.  
  
It flies true, piercing a takeout menu she had excitedly pinned to the fridge just yesterday.  
  
Jeongyeon exhales.  
  
There's only one option now.  
  
//  
  
Before she leaves her apartment for the last time, she grabs one of Chaeyoung's left-behind and unfilled sketchbooks and a dusty and crumpled envelope from her desk drawer.   
  
She leaves everything else.  
  
//  
  
For a government run and funded operation, the facility is laughably easy to infiltrate. There’s been little done to upgrade the security, and the casual arrogance would rankle her if it wasn’t so helpful.  
  
Guard clothing manifests itself under her shaky lines, and time freezes as she needs it to.  
  
By the time she gets through the front door, she’s exhausted; she’s not cut out for field work anymore, but no one questions her as she walks through the halls.  
  
She Sees, lets her eyes scan through the building until she sees a figure hunched over a desk and is hit with a wave of well worn nostalgia. Jihyo’s set up shop in the room Glasses and Moustache used to give out assessments in, and Jeongyeon knows it has to have been on purpose.  
  
She makes her way over to the door, smiling and nodding at everyone she passes. The envelope in her pocket makes it’s way into her hands, and she pushes the door open with a confidence she does not feel.  
  
Jihyo acknowledges her presence with a hum, her head bent over paperwork.  
  
She considers several things: sketching a cup of water and dumping it on her, freezing time and quickly stealing all of her things.  
  
Jihyo decides for her, though.  
  
Jeongyeon feels a light pressure on her forehead, and she exhales and throws the envelope on the table before Jihyo figures out who's standing in front of her.  
  
The bracelets spill out of it, one sliding onto Jihyo's paperwork, stopping right in front of her hand. The other one barely moves from where it landed, right next to a report on the rise of Triunes in the last year.  
  
Jeongyeon appreciates the artistry of it all.  
  
//  
  
Two years later, Jihyo tells her they need her skills as a support, and when Jeongyeon reminds Jihyo that she hasn't played an active support role for over a decade, Jihyo just smiles that goddamn all-knowing smile of hers and pushes a folder into Jeongyeon’s hands.  
  
She takes a deep breath and tells Jihyo that she was only ever meant to support her. She sees Jihyo falter, just for a moment, and even though Jeongyeon knows she’s going to cave and end up on this mission, she can’t help but be a bit pleased at her momentary victory.  
  
As Jihyo smiles at her once more and turns to leave, Jeongyeon considers manipulating time so that she can smack Jihyo in the back of the head before she can stop her, but she thinks better of it when she remembers how hard Jihyo's head had gotten after that one time she kissed Tzuyu.  
  
Fucking super strength making Jihyo’s stupid fucking body feel like steel.  
  
(Jeongyeon had been surprised Jihyo was still willing to kiss people with all she had to lose.  
  
Jihyo had shrugged, smiled, and told her that Tzuyu was worth it.)  
  
Jeongyeon settles into her chair with a sigh and looks at the folder, flipping through the pages with her eyes and starting to learn all there is to know about Agent 113. The number rings familiar, and Jeongyeon has no doubt she’s ran a lab test for this agent at one point or another. “Im Nayeon,” she mutters to herself, leaning back until her chair creaks in protest. “Let’s see what we’re working with.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so you've met Jeongyeon! This is the first part of a story I've been excited to start for awhile, so I hope you enjoy. Find me @2yeonaus if you have any questions!


	2. Nayeon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meet Nayeon.

Nayeon grows up on the fairytale of soulmates, sees the shows, reads the books, watches how happy her parents make each other. They could both do incredible things once, control the weather or always know when their coffee had cooled to the perfect temperature, and they tell Nayeon that none of it compares to the feeling of knowing and loving your soulmate.  
  
And Nayeon thinks that she would be happy if she never got a power, if her very first kiss left her absolutely certain that she had found the person she was meant to be with for the rest of her life.  
  
Soulmates are precious, and sacred, and Nayeon can’t wait to meet hers.  
  
//  
  
Nayeon is sixteen when she gets her first power, and it leaves her with a maelstrom of conflicted feelings.  
  
But before she gets there, she’s here:  
  
Nayeon is shooting glances at Momo out of the corner of her eye. They’ve been sitting in the library doing homework for the last thirty minutes, and Nayeon finds herself still unable to work up the courage to ask Momo out. She’s been crushing on Momo for months now, has been completely enchanted by the new student who showed up out of nowhere and took the school by storm. Momo was everywhere: the dance team, the volleyball team, Nayeon’s lunch table, even two of her classes.  
  
Nayeon had thanked every god she’s ever heard of that Momo ended up in her classes, because it had given Nayeon the perfect excuse to ask her if she wanted to be study buddies. The more time they had spent together, the more compatible Nayeon had known they were.  
  
Nayeon’s brain freezes when she realizes that Momo has been on the same question for the last 10 minutes, pencil twirling around her fingers. She knows Momo doesn’t have much trouble with history, and she also knows that Momo tends to fiddle with her pencil when she’s nervous.  
  
The pieces seem to fall into place, and Nayeon finally gathers her courage and asks Momo if she’d like to go out this weekend. Momo says yes, smiling shyly at Nayeon, somehow even more beautiful than she was a second ago.  
  
Their first kiss is far from perfect. Nayeon is soaked from the rain they just ran through, and the picnic basket in her hand is very clearly flooded with water. She begins to spare a thought for all the hours she spent preparing the perfect lunch for the two of them, but then Momo is laughing and wringing her wet hair out, water falling onto Momo’s covered porch.  
  
Nayeon laughs too, not bothered by the way her dress sticks to her body in the face of the warmth emanating from Momo. Momo moves closer and all Nayeon can focus on is how pretty Momo is, how fast her heart is beating in her chest.  
  
She extends her hand, and Momo takes it, smile curling her lips. Nayeon tugs, and then they’re kissing. There aren’t fireworks. There’s no diapered infant descending from the sky to tell Nayeon that she’s won the dating lottery. It’s just Momo’s hands finding purchase on her waist and Nayeon learning that Momo tends to smile into her kisses.  
  
And Nayeon is old enough now to know that, without powers to lose, there’s no way to know for certain if her and Momo are soulmates (Nayeon doesn’t want to think about how she could find out.), but she’s also old enough to know that maybe Momo wouldn’t be the worst person to be bound to.  
  
By the time they’ve been together for three months, Nayeon is certain she’s in love. The way she feels around Momo checks all of the boxes she found herself enchanted by as a child, except for the fact that no powers manifest. There’s two reasons for why this could be, Nayeon knows: One, Momo is in fact her soulmate. Two, Momo isn’t in love with her.  
  
The first one makes her heart sing, and the second one makes her want to cry. Almost.  
  
Because Nayeon knows Momo, knows she’s more sensitive than she seems at a first glance. Momo left behind her entire life when she moved here, and by now Nayeon knows that she’s still nervous about getting attached. If they aren’t soulmates, then maybe Momo just isn’t ready to be in love yet.  
  
So Nayeon doesn’t say anything; she exists in certain uncertainty and gets her hopes up when she sees the way Momo looks at her. She lies awake at night and tries to establish the logic in her brain. She doesn’t want to ever manifest a power when kissing Momo, but she doesn’t want to languish in wondering whether or not Momo loves her back. She convinces herself that everything will fall into place when Momo tells her she loves her, and the thought almost compels her to just blurt out how she feels.  
  
But she waits, because it’s Momo.  
  
Their six month anniversary is one Nayeon will never forget, even long after Momo stops being the one her heart beats fastest for.  
  
There had been a picnic and a walk around the lake near their school, and finally, Momo tells her she loves her. Nayeon feels anxiety rush out of her, and she takes time only to say it back before pressing a kiss to Momo’s lips. It’s different now that Nayeon knows how Momo feels. There’s no whispering voice in the back of her mind. She knows exactly where she stands, and it’s thrilling.  
  
She feels like she’s flying, and then she hears Momo gasp and looks down and realizes it isn’t just a feeling. Momo reaches up to her and gasps again when she realizes her own arm is rapidly vibrating.  
  
Momo disappears, and Nayeon can barely keep track of the pink and black blur that darts around the lake. At one point, she’s pretty sure she sees Momo run across the water.  
  
She can’t stay still, the excitement at getting a power like flying and at knowing how Momo feels about her is too much, and Nayeon takes off. She stumbles at first, drags her feet against the ground and almost careens into a tree, but then she’s flying after Momo the best she can. Momo’s laughter drifts up to her, and Nayeon grins wider than she ever has.  
  
After a few seconds, tears spring to her eyes, and while Nayeon would like to believe it’s from the wind, she knows it’s because this means her and Momo aren’t soulmates. Despite how much Nayeon loves Momo in this moment, they aren’t it for each other. It stings, and Nayeon tries her best to distract herself by watching Momo.  
  
It doesn’t completely abate the pain, but it’s good enough for now.  
  
They go so many places together, see so many new things.  
  
They sit on rooftops of too-tall buildings and talk for hours. There are nights, sitting on the roof of the apartment building Momo grew up in, that Nayeon never wants to end. She knows there’s an invisible countdown clock hanging over their heads; she only wishes it would never run out.  
  
Two years later, they choose their dream schools over each other, and Momo uses her super-speed to get away before Nayeon can see her cry.  
  
Nayeon wants to fall to her knees and sob, wants to go find a rainstorm to cry in and a sky with constellations she doesn’t know. Instead, she walks home, feels the impact of every step against the pavement below her. She knew this was coming.  
  
Nayeon wants to act like her heart had just been broken, but she knows that it had started cracking the moment she gained the ability to fly. She feels stupid and juvenile for even thinking that way, but it’s true.  
  
She promises herself that she’ll get it right next time.  
  
//  
  
  
She’s twenty before she gets another power, and at this point she’s stopped expecting them.  
  
It’s a silly thing, she’s decided. Why put so much stock in whether or not kissing someone gives you a new skill? Who decided that it meant romantic love as opposed to some weird chemical reaction?  
  
She scoffs at people around her who put too much faith into the whole thing. She dates and kisses whomever she likes, indifferent when new powers don’t manifest. The people she kisses often don’t feel the same indifference, but Nayeon knows it’s not her emotional burden to carry.  
  
She knows she had loved Momo, and she also knows that she happened to get a power from kissing her. It doesn’t mean anything more than she’ll let it.  
  
(And yes. Maybe she tests her flight every time she kisses someone that really makes her stomach flutter, but she tells herself that’s just to make sure she hasn’t become rusty with the skill.)  
  
There’s a girl who works in the campus library, and Nayeon lets herself become enchanted by the way she curls her hair around her finger when she’s reading a book during slow hours. It’s meant to be a passing amusement, a brief moment of harmless reprieve as she tries to remember how the hell derivatives work. However, the girl shows up in her upper-level business course next semester, and Nayeon takes the opportunity to sit next to her.  
  
They say hello, and then speak no further as class starts. It stays that way until they’re paired up for a group project, which results in a lot of time spent one-on-one in coffee shops and Nayeon falling faster than she ever has. She even lies awake at night and tries to think of clever things she can say the next time she sees her. It’s silly, and she can’t find it in herself to stop despite the warning bells going off in her mind.  
  
Nayeon is still a romantic at heart; she just wishes this soulmate bullshit wasn’t around to mess it up.  
  
For the first time, Nayeon is actually scared to fall for someone. The pull she feels towards her is almost magnetic, and when she finds the other girl’s eyes lingering on her lips when Nayeon talks about accruals, Nayeon begins to think it’s mutual.  
  
But she waits. And waits. She waits until the urge to confess burns at her lips every time she’s graced with her favorite smile.  
  
Nayeon doesn’t think of soulmates or superpowers. She just thinks about how moonlight looks reflected in soft brown eyes.  
  
As such, when she kisses Mina for the first time, pours every ounce of built up longing into a kiss that is returned with just as much passion, she doesn’t expect anything new to manifest.  
  
She breaks the kiss, takes in the flush on Mina’s cheeks and the small smile on her reddened lips and feels like she just learned how to fly all over again.  
  
(There is a part of her that hopes she won’t be able to fly after this. She knows she’s in love, even if she’ll only admit it to herself in the dark and with a cup of cooling coffee in her hands, clock above the stove ushering her into 3 AM.)  
  
She feels something wrap around her wrist and flinches, knowing that Mina’s fingers are tangled in her hair. When she looks down, she sees a vine wrapping around her wrist, and from it, a beautiful flower that she somehow knows to be a hydrangea blooms. It doesn’t really make sense because hydrangeas come from shrubs. Nayeon has no idea how she knows that.  
  
She gapes. Mina gasps.  
  
Mina drops one of her hands and runs her fingertips over the flower’s petals, and Nayeon concentrates on the living thing wrapped around her wrist. The vine grows, wrapping around Mina’s wrist and moving to tug her closer so that their foreheads are touching.  
  
Nayeon knows that she’s in love, and the plant wrapped around their hands tells Nayeon that Mina feels the same way.  
  
She knows, too, that the universe has decided that her and Mina aren’t soulmates. She thinks the universe has that part wrong. She knows the mistakes her and Momo made; she promised herself that she would never forget the insecurities that got under their skin.  
  
A year later, a tearful Mina is kissing her one last time. She murmurs that they both knew they weren’t it for each other anyway.  
  
Nayeon shakes her head, letting her tears flow freely now, and tells Mina that she knows they’re meant to be.  
  
Mina smiles, pained but true, and gently taps Nayeon on the forehead.  
  
“I can read minds, remember?”  
  
Nayeon shudders and pulls Mina into one final embrace. They part, and with little thought, Nayeon reaches out to a plant nearby and makes it morph into a hydrangea shrub. She grabs a petal and pushes it into Mina’s hands with a whispered goodbye.  
  
Mina boards a plane, and Nayeon knows then that powers just aren’t worth it.  
  
//  
  
She’s twenty-three when she makes her final and third mistake.  
  
(Nayeon wishes that Sana had only ever been a mistake.)  
  
She had thought she was safe with Sana, thought her heart was carefully guarded.  
  
Sana starts off as a rebound, one who knows exactly why Nayeon texts her at odd hours of the night, and one who always answers Nayeon’s texts just as Nayeon always answers hers.  
  
Nayeon knows Sana has her own heartbreak she’s running from, can tell from the things the other woman murmurs in her sleep on the rare nights they stay with each other.  
  
It’s a few months before they actually start seeing each other in the light of day, and even then things are casual. They have a few mutual friends, just enough that their familiarity with each other doesn’t raise eyebrows.  
  
They’re invited to the same parties, and they have a system down. They wait until their friends are distracted by something or other, and then they go back to one of their places.  
  
Simple.  
  
Easy.  
  
Sometimes Nayeon brings Sana coffee when she knows that she’s been up all night studying, and sometimes Sana buys Nayeon lunch because she knows the other girl is in the final year of her hellish masters program and forgets to eat.  
  
There are moments that make Nayeon wonder, make her think of Triunes and probability.  
  
Sometimes Sana stops her, reaching down to tangle her fingers in Nayeon’s hair and pull her up so that she can kiss her, soft and gentle. Sometimes Nayeon does it too, presses into Sana and watches her unravel and marvels at the beauty of it all.  
  
But they keep kissing, and Nayeon doesn’t get any new powers or lose her old ones and Sana doesn’t say anything about it either.  
  
Nayeon begins to think that she’s safe. If the excitement and warmth in her chest at the thought of the other woman isn’t love, then she’s okay.  
  
(And even if it did end up being love, even if Nayeon wanted to call Sana hers, the chances of Nayeon getting another S-class power were slim to none.  
  
So maybe it would be okay.  
  
She thinks that maybe she wouldn’t have hated her life if that first kiss with Sana had taken her powers away either.)  
  
The night that changes everything is the same as any other, except tomorrow they both graduate. Tomorrow they’re both done.  
  
They haven’t talked about what happens after tomorrow.  
  
Nayeon opens the door to her apartment, and suddenly Sana is kissing her, firm and eager.  
  
There’s something else to it tonight, something in the way Sana’s fingers uncharacteristically fumble with the clasp of Nayeon’s bra, something about her breath being shakier than normal as Nayeon kisses down the column of her neck.  
  
There is something else, and Nayeon pretends that nothing is wrong.  
  
But then she can't anymore, is unable to lie to herself as she rests her forehead against Sana’s, both of them breathless and smiling.  
  
Sana says something playful about how she’s going to need to remember this for when she can no longer just pop over to Nayeon’s apartment. Nayeon’s first instinct is to laugh, and she does. It mingles with Sana’s gentle chuckles.  
  
Then the weight of the words hit her, and she finds herself unable to muster even a smile. She looks at Sana, studies the curve of her cheek, remembers the first time they kissed and is hit with the undeniable knowledge that she’s fallen for the woman in front of her.  
  
It is a thought that, once acknowledged, cannot go away.  
  
She runs her thumb along Sana’s jaw, cups her chin, and kisses her. And the world loses focuses.  
  
Nayeon feels like she’s floating, but this time there’s no sense of control. She’s spinning, and she’s faintly aware of Sana kissing her back.  
  
Images flash through her mind.  
  
She sees Sana deepening the kiss, pushing her onto her back. Sees wandering fingers and hears gasps she knows to be her own. She sees herself tracing a finger over the ridges of Sana’s spine, knows that she’s crying. She sees herself waking up tomorrow, alone. She can see the despair on her face and a shadow of resignation. She sees herself throwing open her front door and glaring at a brown-haired woman. The brown-haired woman steps forward and introduces herself, and Nayeon sees herself crumple.  
  
And then she’s in the present, and all she can see is darkness. She opens her eyes and sees Sana pull back from the kiss, sees a familiar smirk pull at her lips and feels Sana nudging at her hip.  
  
She knows then that she’s unlocked her third power, and she knows that future sight is undoubtedly classified as S-grade.  
  
Tomorrow morning, she’ll wake up and Sana will have left (for what reason Nayeon can’t tell), and Park Jihyo will come to her door and tell her she’s a Triune.  
  
And she’ll have to go because she’ll be damned if she keeps living the life she has now, falling in love and having the universe tell her that she hasn’t found The One. Powers aren't a suitable consolation prize for a broken heart.  
  
She’ll tell Park Jihyo to go fuck herself but then accept the offer anyway.  
  
But that’s tomorrow.  
  
Tonight she’ll kiss Sana back and hope that she understands how much Nayeon loves her.  
  
She’ll let herself get lost in the other woman, just like her vision showed.  
  
She’ll pretend.  
  
Just one last time.  
  
//  
  
Nayeon tells herself that she’ll break one part of her vision, that she’ll stay stoic in front of Park Jihyo.  
  
But the other woman looks at her with pity and kindness in her eyes when Nayeon expects coldness, and she’s unable to keep that promise to herself.  
  
//  
  
The first time Nayeon kills someone, she’s 25 years old.  
  
She stands in front of two men that congratulate her on a mission well run, tell her that his death is a gift to the world. She stands, and she stares unflinchingly at Jihyo, who looks back at her with an aloofness that would be chilling if it didn’t make Nayeon want to cry and scream.  
  
She knows that the man she killed deserved it, knows that he was responsible for running dozens of unsanctioned tests on those with powers, but her chest feels empty all the same.  
  
She had gotten into close combat with him, let her physical training take over to avoid damaging the facility and the evidence. Her hand had slipped past his shaky defenses, driving her palm into his windpipe, and she had Seen.  
  
She knew she would. She always did when she touched someone with her hands.  
  
She had pushed through, wanting to skip to the end of her 24 hour window, not worried enough about the fight to want to See his next movements. But then she had Seen him reaching for a gun in his jacket and had Seen herself deploy her knives and strike out with a blow she knew immediately was fatal. The vision had stopped and Nayeon had been thrust back into the present, fully aware of how this encounter would end.  
  
The bile rising in her throat threatens to overwhelm her when Jihyo speaks and tells her that this is what she trained for, that she should be proud.  
  
Nayeon nods and smirks and tries to find it in herself to embody any of Jihyo’s hollow words.  
  
Her eyes drop to the ground for just a second, and she lifts them quickly when she sees a speck of blood on her shoes.  
  
She meets Jihyo’s eyes and for a moment, just a moment, Jihyo looks less ‘junior director of the government’s superpowered military’ and more like a girl 2 years younger than her, but that vanishes so quickly Nayeon isn’t sure it even happened.  
  
Later that night, when she’s in her room, spread akimbo on her bed and wishing for anything other than this, a knock sounds on her door.  
  
If she had the choice, if she didn’t live a life where someone knocking on her door meant she had to answer it, she would ignore the knock, let herself simmer in her feelings. That isn’t her life, though, and she doesn’t have that freedom. She opens the door and finds Jihyo on the other side.  
  
Nayeon has known Jihyo for years at this point. Her status as a trainee meant that they didn’t see each other often, but she was well aware of Jihyo’s reputation, intimidating at best, heartless bitch at worst. Nayeon preferred to stay neutral. Jihyo was kind to her when they first met, and had since overseen a training session or two with no more than a nod when she finished.  
  
A week ago, Jihyo had assigned her to this mission in a firm tone, answering any questions Nayeon may have had before she could ask them. The summation of these experiences gets turned on its head when she takes in the woman standing in front of her.  
  
She doesn’t look like Jihyo at all. This Jihyo wears baggy sweatpants, a shirt that looks like it’s seen better days, and look of sympathy on her face that is so foreign Nayeon feels the urge to flee.  
  
And this Jihyo extends her hands without a word. and Nayeon looks down.  
  
And looks back up.  
  
And then back down again.  
  
And Jihyo laughs, high and loud, and Nayeon is reminded of the girl who had stood on her doorstep two years ago.  
  
Jihyo pushes a milkshake into her hands and tells her that she knows no words can make the pain she’s feeling just disappear.  
  
“But I’m here if you ever want to talk about it, Nayeon. I promise you that.”  
  
It’s likely the combination of the sadness lurking in Jihyo’s eyes and the fact that Nayeon has already faced death once today that makes her do what she does next. She nods and steps back from the doorway, and Jihyo looks surprised but steps into her room anyway.  
  
Nayeon has a feeling they could both use a friend.   
  
//  
  
Nayeon is twenty-seven and one of the rising stars in The Agency. Her book in The Library is already filling up, and she knows her talents are to be envied. Her combat scores are stellar, strategy ones trailing only slightly behind.  
  
Nayeon has talent, powers, and a drunken Park Jihyo in her room, and she is thoroughly unprepared for it. Nayeon had been surprised to see Jihyo at all, actually.  
  
They tried to keep their interactions contained to work, breaking from that only for post-mission gatherings, where Nayeon got to spend time with the version of Jihyo she considered a friend. Jihyo had insisted on semi-restricted contact, and Nayeon couldn’t find it in herself to argue. She didn’t need people accusing her of getting harder missions due to favoritism.  
  
So, opening the door to a drunken Jihyo with flushed cheeks and uncertain steps had been a shock. Nayeon almost, almost reaches out to use her Sight on Jihyo to try and figure out what’s going on, but her and Jihyo’s agreement about not using their powers on each other without permission stops her.  
  
“Jihyo, are you okay?”  
  
Jihyo laughs, hollow. “I saw someone today that I never really thought I’d see again.”  
  
The word ‘fragile’ is one Nayeon never would have associated with Jihyo before this moment. She has absolutely no idea how to handle it. Jihyo looks small, dwarfed by her sleep shirt.  
  
“Oh.” Nayeon watches as Jihyo stares at her own clenched fist. Her fingers unfurl one by one. Flames spark and die out between her fingertips.  
  
“If there was someone in the world—” Jihyo starts. Nayeon flinches at the broken silence. “—who once upon a time trusted you implicitly, and you broke their heart because you were a coward, do you think they could ever forgive you?”  
  
Several faces flicker through Nayeon’s mind. “That’s incredibly vague, but I’d like to think so.”  
  
Jihyo smiles, eyes watery and voice a mere whisper. “Yeah. Me too.”  
  
//  
  
By the time she’s twenty nine, Nayeon is the Triune every other Triune aspires to be.  
  
She’s agile and strong, and Jihyo never hesitates to give her new and harder missions.  
  
(Nayeon complains once, joking about how Jihyo only pushes Nayeon so hard because she doesn’t want to go on missions herself. Jihyo throws a cupcake at her head.)  
  
She’s refined at this point, able to use all of her powers at will and with little effort.  
  
Nayeon saves and changes the world with an ease she treasures and resents in turn. She meets new people, learns new things, and never falls in love.  
  
It’s just about perfect.  
  
She works solo most of the time. She requests mission partners when the situation calls for it, but it rarely does, not for her.  
  
People used to laugh at her when they heard she had nature manipulation, used to say that a few plants couldn’t hurt anyone. They know better now, have read the reports and seen the numbers.  
  
She refuses to work long-term with someone else. She says it’s because they would only weigh her down, and the lie leaves her lips with ease every time until the day Jihyo pulls her aside and tells her that her past will only get in the way. Jihyo tells Nayeon that her biggest weakness is herself, and Nayeon can only stare, mouth open.  
  
Jihyo chuckles, but then she shakes her head and looks at Nayeon with soft eyes. She tells her that she should take another look through Jihyo’s file. Nayeon nods, unsure of why but unwilling to ask.  
  
Jihyo turns to leave, but she only makes it a few steps before turning around to look at Nayeon once more. “We have something important in common, and it’s that very thing that assures me that you’re capable of getting along well with others. I know you’re a good person, Nayeon.”  
  
Later that night, Nayeon sits in the library and thumbs through Jihyo's book, rolling her eyes at the sheer amount of redacted information. It’s been years since she last looked at the other woman’s file, and time has only made it all the more impressive.  
  
Eventually, she takes a look at Jihyo’s powers page and finds what Jihyo had been talking about. The scope of Jihyo’s powers is awe-inspiring, but it’s the name of one of her power sources that takes Nayeon’s breath away.  
  
  
**Power Age Source of Acquisition**  
  
_Power Duplication 7 REDACTED _  
_ -Shapeshifting_  
_ -Mind Reading_  
_ -Elemental Manipulation_  
  
_Certainty Manipulation 20 Minatozaki S. _  
_Invisibility_  
  
  
_Gravity Manipulation 25 Chou T._  
_Super Strength_  
  
  
Nayeon stands abruptly, leaves the book on the table, and slowly walks back to her room.  
  
The world feels too large and too small all at once, and Nayeon wraps herself in her comforter and tries to imagine a world in which she could fall in love and not hate it. She thinks about Momo and Mina and Sana and wonders what they'd want her to do.

The answer is easy, in the end.  
  
//  
  
Two days later she corners Jihyo in the cafeteria. She says nothing, just stares directly into the other woman's eyes.  
  
Jihyo gets the memo, and, after a moment, she nods and tells Nayeon that she’ll meet her new partner tomorrow.  
  
Later that day, she gets back to her room and finds a folder on her desk. She runs her finger over the name with a sigh, sits down, opens the folder, and begins to learn all about Agent 130. She sees how idyllic and bland Yoo Jeongyeon’s childhood was and laughs to herself.  
  
“Two siblings, first power at 13, and middle school class president? Once upon a time…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Catch me @2yeonaus if you're so inclined or have questions. I'm happy to answer them!!
> 
> Brief Power Recap:
> 
> Jeongyeon: Lethal X-Ray Vision, Time Manipulation, Dimension Manipulation (Sketch)  
Nayeon: Flight, Nature Manipulation, Future Sight  
Jihyo: See above!
> 
> Soulmate Mechanic Summary:
> 
> If you're in love with someone and they love you back, a kiss that occurs after both people have realized it nets you a power. If you're soulmates and you have any powers, you lose them all. If you're soulmates and you have no powers, nothing happens. 
> 
> There are exceptions to every rule and many definitions of what love is (see JeongHyo), but this is the long and short of it!


	3. Orientation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meet the team.

The door to the Conference Room 3 slides open as she approaches, the smooth movement a contrast to the uneven thrum of her heart. There are too many questions, too many uncertainties. She crosses the threshold of the room and all of that anxiety seizes, sharpening to a point before fading into nothing. She has something she can focus on now.   
  
Normally, Nayeon would perform a quick visual scan of any unfamiliar room, but she knows the conference rooms in here are all the same. Jihyo is in her peripheral, setting something up at the front of the room, and while Nayeon certainly has questions, she has something important to accomplish first. Yoo Jeongyeon shifts in her seat, and Nayeon’s eyes follow the movement.  
  
She itches to touch her.  
  
It’s a habit she’s been unable to break, even after years of having her future sight. She likes the ability to be able to scrub through part of the next 24-hours of someone’s life when she first meets them, and she thinks no one can blame her for that. There’s no better way to get a first impression. She doesn’t care about their secrets or what they’ll have for dinner that night; she only cares about whether or not they’re someone she can tolerate  
  
(Years ago, there had been a mission partner that Nayeon had Seen herself stuttering in front of, cheeks red. She had felt an echo of her stomach fluttering with nerves, and it had terrified her. She avoided her partner as much as the mission allowed after that, and it was to her great relief that she found herself able to avoid that future.)  
  
From what little she could get Jihyo to tell her this morning when they crossed paths in the hallway, this was going to be a long-term assignment. She couldn’t help but be slightly apprehensive at the thought of having to work with someone for longer than a couple weeks. The longest Nayeon had ever worked with the same partner was three weeks, and his presence had been the most stressful part of the mission, heat-seeking turrets and professional assassins after her head included.  
  
What was so difficult, so _important,_ that Nayeon couldn’t work alone?

She walks further into the room and clears her throat, extending a hand when unfamiliar dark brown eyes meet her own. "Hi. Im Nayeon. Pleasure to meet you."  
  
The object of her focus stands, and Nayeon takes a small step back when she realizes the other woman actually has an inch or two on her in terms of height.  
  
"Yoo Jeongyeon. Likewise." Yoo Jeongyeon slips her hand into Nayeon’s with a smile. Nayeon takes it, eyes still locked on the other woman's.  
  
As their hands make contact, she expects to feel skin and then have her vision blur around the edges. Instead, she feels cotton and sees Jeongyeon's eyes narrow as she smirks at her. She looks down before she can help herself and sees that a glove is blocking her from making skin contact.  
  
Nayeon looks up and immediately knows that a terrible mistake has been made in placing them together. Jeongyeon looks at her smugly, not wincing even as Nayeon tightens her grip on the hand wrapped in her own. She continues to stare at her, and Nayeon can almost feel the tension crackling to life between them. Images of her sweeping Jeongyeon’s legs from out under her, sending her crashing to the floor, flash through Nayeon’s mind, and she desperately wishes they were in a training gym right now.  
  
But then Jihyo speaks up, asks them both to take a seat, and Nayeon’s grip slackens. Jeongyeon steps back and bows her head slightly. “Absolutely delightful to meet you, Agent Im,” Jeongyeon says, insincerity curling around every word.  
  
Their eyes meet once again when Jeongyeon raises her head, and the thing between them simmers. Nayeon paints a smile onto her face as she answers. “Likewise, Agent Yoo. Your file was”—Nayeon drops her eyes, blatantly scans her gaze over the sneakers Jeongyeon wears, the ripped jeans and long-sleeved shirt with frayed cuffs—“_enlightening_ in regards to your worth to this team.”  
  
Nayeon wears agency issued clothing, knows there’s not a thread out of place. She looks polished, put together, successful. And she wants Jeongyeon to know exactly how different they are. Nayeon has awards, commendations, more random things named after her than she could even begin to list. Jeongyeon has what looks to be the remnants of her lunch on her right sleeve.  
  
Jeongyeon’s jaw clenches, and as she opens her mouth to speak, cheeks flushed, Nayeon feels something akin to victory thrum through her.  
  
Jihyo clears her throat.

Nayeon steps back, letting their hostile staring contest come to an end. She’s well aware of every movement Jeongyeon makes to her left even though her eyes are now on Jihyo. She decides to take a seat at the back of the table, turns her full attention towards it and decides to just ignore the nuisance for now. She’s here with a purpose.  
  
First impressions aren’t everything. Jeongyeon isn’t the first person to take issue with her power, nor is she the first person to immediately put Nayeon on edge. Nayeon knows she won’t be the last.  
  
She’s almost there, about to pull the chair towards her, but then she blinks and Jeongyeon is sitting in the chair instead, eyes meeting hers with a carefree smile that causes her spine to stiffen ever so slightly.  
  
She turns abruptly, pulls out the chair closest to her and sits down, pretends that she doesn’t hear Jeongyeon chuckle. She takes a deep breath, closes her eyes, and casts her focus around the room. She finds what she’s looking for in the form of the lone plant in the space: a dracaena. Once she knows where the plant is located, she opens her eyes and looks to Jihyo.  
  
And is promptly taken aback when she sees that Jihyo is glaring at something over Nayeon’s shoulder.  
  
Nayeon has known Jihyo for awhile. She’s seen the other woman display a range of emotions, and she knows that the look Jihyo is wearing right now, one of open irritation and exasperation, is one she only expresses in the cocoon of Nayeon’s room. It’s the look she gets when talking about a lab equipment supplier who couldn’t keep their promised prices, or when Nayeon makes a joke about being just a ruthless killer.  
  
What gives her pause is the fact that the look isn’t being directed at her; it’s being directed at Jeongyeon. She’s happy about it, of course, but she’s confused because she’s never seen Jihyo be anything other than professional and composed in front of others. Worry spikes through her ever so briefly. Surely Jihyo wouldn’t have put her with someone she herself couldn’t even contain her irritation around?  
  
She had assumed that Jeongyeon barely knew Jihyo, barely knew anyone, actually. According to her file, the other woman had been here for 2 years, and Nayeon had never even heard of her. Hell, Nayeon had been attending the new trainees’ end of year test since she herself passed it, and she has no recollection of ever seeing Jeongyeon.  
  
She hears a huff behind her and tries to refocus her attention on the plant, but suddenly Jihyo is outright scowling, and Nayeon is utterly baffled. The squeak of her chair prompts her to try and focus again, and this time she’s able to tear her eyes away from the anomaly that is Jihyo’s face at this moment in time.  
  
Nayeon smiles quietly to herself as she links with the plant, loves the buzzing of vitality that she can feel. She imagines dipping her fingers into the pool of energy, can almost feel it dancing around her fingers. She coaxes the plant into redirecting itself, into curling around Jeongyeon’s chair and pulling. Jeongyeon needs to know that Nayeon doesn’t have time for her precious time-freezing bullshit.  
  
She’s about to enforce her will when Jihyo speaks and obliterates her concentration.  
  
“You better get used to each other and cut out the juvenile antics. We’ve estimated that you’ll be working together for at least two years.”  
  
Nayeon doesn’t flinch at the mix of sounds that erupt behind her — a gasp of disbelief, a chair scraping against the floor, hands meeting the edge of the table — but she wants to.  
  
She expects Jeongyeon to speak, expects yelling or disagreement of some sort, but instead she just watches as Jihyo’s eyes narrow slightly. “This isn’t up for debate, Agent Yoo. You won’t be able to sway me on this.”  
  
This is very strange, Nayeon decides. Because Jihyo is very clearly reading Jeongyeon’s mind, but Nayeon knows that Jihyo always verbally asks for permission before beginning to scan someone’s thoughts. It’s silly to find something that most people consider a basic courtesy endearing, but Nayeon always found herself charmed by it. It's achingly familiar, and it reminds her of Mina in the sweetest of ways.  
  
Nayeon wants to turn around to see what exactly Jeongyeon is doing, but she refuses to give her the satisfaction of knowing she has even an iota of Nayeon’s attention. Instead, she keeps her eyes forward, attention on Jihyo. A moment passes. And then another. Nayeon watches the clock on the wall tick to 5:27 pm, and then Jihyo flinches. Something indiscernible flashes across Jihyo’s face, staying only long enough for Nayeon to feel like she’s missing something important.  
  
“This is far from a punishment, Agent.”  
  
Another moment passes. Nayeon hears shifting behind her, and she watches Jihyo’s grip on the papers in her hand tighten ever so slightly.  
  
“If you have issues you’d like to discuss,” Jihyo begins, voice soft yet sharp, “we can go over them at a later time.”  
  
A hollow laugh. The sound of a body falling into a chair. “Whatever you say, Director Park,” Jeongyeon mutters. Nayeon briefly considers taking control of the dracaena again.  
  
Jihyo is far from popular; Nayeon knows this. Nayeon also knows that, despite what people say behind her back, Jihyo is respected everywhere she goes. Her accomplishments and talent are undeniable, and Nayeon has never encountered someone who was inclined to disregard that. Nayeon hoped Jihyo had a backup plan just in case she ended up pushing her new partner into oncoming traffic during their time together.  
  
“As I was saying, this is a long-term assignment. You’ve been placed on a team together because, in addition to my recommendation, the board has determined that you have compatible skill sets for the task ahead.” Jihyo moves as she speaks, picking up two folders from the table and pushing them towards Nayeon.  
  
When the folders reach her, she briefly considers pushing the second one out of Jeongyeon’s reach. She remembers where she is, though, and she passes the folder on without so much as a word or look. Nayeon may not yet see any value in her assigned partner, but she’s a Triune. She has a job,a duty, and she’s far too experienced to let juvenile feelings get in the way.  
  
“In short,” Jihyo says, pressing a button on the remote in her hand, “you two are being sent after an individual known only as X. From notes of his we’ve been able to recover, that seems to be what he calls himself.”  
  
A low whirring noise fills the room, and Nayeon watches as a projector screen descends from the ceiling. It illuminates, and Nayeon finds herself staring at what appears to be a grainy photo of someone wearing a mask. “This is the only photo we’ve ever been able to capture of him. The agent who took this almost lost a leg.”

_Bora_, Nayeon thinks. She remembers the other woman, after having been gone for months, randomly showing up one day in a wheelchair.  
  
“As long as we have known about the existence of powers, we have known of those who try to control the development of these powers in others.” Jihyo presses the button again, and this time the image that appears reflects a scene Nayeon knows well. The picture is too blurry to show details, but it makes bile surge in her throat nonetheless.  
  
“As you’re both aware, facilities like this are illegal and a high priority target for us.” Jihyo’s voice begins to slip away from her.  
  
She’s taken down a handful of these places of the years, and it’s the one thing she’s been unable to make herself numb to. Nayeon tries to ground herself, but flashes of her past missions try to sweep her away. She inhales quietly—she has enough composure left to not draw attention to herself, at least— and focuses on the feel of the leather chair against her back, the way her feet press into the floor. There’s a sweet scent lingering in the air. Nayeon thinks it might be Jihyo’s perfume, but she isn’t sure.  
  
Jihyo presses the button again, and this time it’s a map showing locations of previous takedown attempts. Nayeon feels like she can breathe again.  
  
“—flush out these locations?”  
  
“It’s a bit more complex than that, Agent Yoo. X has been responsible for sites that are harder to find and harder to infiltrate. He’s also begun targeting individuals that have been blanked.”  
  
The edge of the folder crumbles as Nayeon’s hand tightens. “He what?”  
  
“That’s impossible,” Jeongyeon breathes, the shock in her voice a reflection of what Nayeon feels. “Blanking completely cuts off access to an individual’s powers. It’s a complete rewrite of that part of the brain. Reactivating them is impossible! We’ve studied this extensively with our research for—”  
  
Jihyo interrupts. “Agent Yoo. I’m aware, trust me. As far as we can tell, he hasn’t been successful in reawakening any powers, but the fact that he’s targeting now defenseless individuals is cause for extreme concern. He’s been taking their families as well.”  
  
Nayeon’s mind whirs. Something isn’t adding up. What’s happening is terrible, yes, but none of it explains why she would be placed into a special mission with an estimated completion time of two years. This seems like a straightforward enough situation.  
  
“We believe that someone inside of The Agency has been feeding X information, telling him when Triunes have been blanked so that he can target them. Blanked civilians have also gone missing, but not at nearly the same rate. We don’t know where this leak could be coming from, but we do know that X knows things he absolutely should not know. This goes deeper than kidnappings and experiments. It’s targeted, and it’s duplicitous.”  
  
Nayeon blinks, and then a chill slivers up her spine as Jihyo’s words fully process. Triunes may be recognized worldwide as heros, but the inner workings of the machine that trains and deploys them are meant to be kept secret from all but a select few. There are friends Nayeon has had to let go of over the years, people who found their soulmate and were ferreted away to a safehouse to start their life anew.  
  
Triunes followed the orders that were given to them, and Nayeon has done many things she never really knew the justification for. To think that a traitor could have had any impact on whether or not someone lived or died by Nayeon’s hands makes her stomach clench.  
  
The clatter of Jihyo’s remote hitting the tabletop snaps her out of her thoughts. Jihyo moves towards them, stopping when she reaches the head of the table. “We can run standard missions to root out some of his facilities or continue to defend our research bases, but to actually find him and take him down will be much more nuanced. He has resources that he’s been using to evade us for years now.”  
  
The light from the screen wraps around Jihyo like a robe, throwing the seriousness on her face into stark relief.  
  
“The board told me to hand-select two people that I could trust without hesitation. You are those two people. This is going to be a black-box mission. No oversight. No reporting to anyone other than me.”  
  
Nayeon blinks again. She undersands why she’s be put on this mission; she's spent years working her ass off, doing her best to prove herself. Jihyo trusted her, she knew that. Her conversations with other Triunes over the years have proven that no one else knew Jihyo quite like she did.  
  
What the hell had Yoo Jeongyeon done in the elusive two years that she’s been here to warrant that type of trust and respect?  
  
“We’re going to begin training tomorrow. You two are going to be spending a lot of time together. We need you to understand each other’s abilities like you do your own.”  
  
Silence falls, and Jihyo’s gaze wonders over both of them. Nayeon tries to grasp at words, but nothing comes to her. Her brain is processing things, running over the new reality she’s in. She half expects Jeongyeon to cause another scene, but the woman behind her remains quiet.  
  
Jihyo nods, seemingly content with whatever she sees in both of their eyes. “We’ll be using one of the specialist gyms for your training, so I’d like both of you to grab your things from your normal gyms and meet me by the entrance to Gym 7. I’ll see you both there in 15 minutes.”  
  
And then Jihyo leaves. The projector slides back up into the ceiling, and the conference room door slides itself shut. The sound bounces around the silent room, and suddenly the weight of everything Nayeon just learned falls upon her shoulders.  
  
She knows that this is the mission she’s been training for. Someone having the ability to replicate powers at will would spell catastrophe for the balance of power in the world, and having that come at the expense of powerless individuals makes it even worse. Jihyo trusts her; the board members trust her. Nayeon has all of the validation she ever aspired to.  
  
The chair behind her creaks, and Nayeon is reminded of one more thing. She’s stuck with a partner that is completely useless on paper, infuriating in real life, and irritating in Jihyo’s eyes.  
  
Movement catches her gaze, and she looks up to see Jeongyeon looking down at her. Her first instinct is to stand up, but she shakes that impulse away. She doesn’t need height to have the upper hand. Nayeon leans back in her chair, raising a dismissive eyebrow. “Oh, sorry. Did you want to steal anything else of mine with your powers? I have some gum in my pocket if you want it.”  
  
Jeongyeon’s eyes narrow, but then she relaxes with a sigh. “I stole your chair, but you tried to steal knowledge of my future. You can’t blame me for not welcoming that.”  
  
“Oh please,” Nayeon scoffs. “It’s not a big deal. Do you have secrets to hide, Agent Yoo? Maybe some hint as to why the fuck Director Park put you on this team?”  
  
“Your powers don’t entitle you to people’s lives,” Jeongyeon retorts, crossing her arms. “But whatever. I’m not talking to you to change your mind, nor do I need to justify my presence here to you.”  
  
“Then why are you talking to me?”  
  
Jeongyeon blows out a breath before she speaks, and Nayeon can’t help but notice the way it ruffles her bangs. “Listen, whether we like it or not, we’re going to be stuck together for two goddamn years. I just wanted to say”— Jeongyeon’s hand twists in the sleeve of her sweater, and Nayeon wonders if the other woman knows how goddamn obvious her tells are—“that I’ll have your back when it comes to missions, even if I find your entitlement and disregard for basic human decency disrespectful.”  
  
Nayeon latches on to what she can easily respond to. “Who the hell are you to talk to me about disrespectful? I wasn’t facing you, but I sure as hell didn’t miss the scene you made with Director Park. You do know who she is, right?”  
  
Jeongyeon’s face twists, and the distaste is too blatant to miss. “I know exactly what Jihyo deserves, thanks.”  
  
A retort is on the tip of Nayeon’s tongue, but something about the way Jeongyeon’s face settles after she speaks stops her. There’s a weariness there, and suddenly Nayeon feels like defending Jihyo’s honor won’t be as cut and dry as telling Jeongyeon exactly where she can shove her attitude. And so Nayeon says nothing, just lets the words stand between them.  
  
Jeongyeon keeps looking at her, eyes searching. Nayeon holds her gaze, refuses to back down. Jeongyeon was confrontational one moment, nervous the next, and irritating the second after. Nayeon would be lying if she said she wasn’t curious, but she also had her pride. She refused to give Jeongyeon the satisfaction of seeing her look away first.  
  
“Will you be the same, or do I have to watch my ass by myself for the next two years?” Jeongyeon’s voice is low, and it carries a note of accusation. The severity of what she’s being asked hits her fully, and she knows that it’s time to get serious. Nayeon had never lost someone on a mission, and she had no plans to start any time soon.  
  
She stands and notes with some satisfaction that Jeongyeon takes a step back as she does so. “Agent Yoo,” Nayeon begins, “this is my job. I’m extremely good at what I do, and no matter how I may feel about you on a personal level, I would never fail to do anything other than my best to protect my team and finish the job. I can promise you that.”  
  
Jeongyeon nods. “Good.” She extends one of her hands out, stopping suddenly when she realizes it’s her uncovered one. Nayeon almost laughs, but she’s thankfully able to swallow it down. She doesn’t want to upset the weird sort of balance they’ve just reached.  
  
Nayeon reaches down and tugs her sleeve over her hand. She extends it to Jeongyeon, smirking when Jeongyeon’s eyebrows raise in surprise. “Here,” Nayeon says. “This fabric is thick enough to block out my powers, I promise.”  
  
Jeongyeon’s eyes dart between Nayeon’s eyes and her covered hand several times before Jeongyeon moves. Frankly, Nayeon half expects Jeongyeon to insist on using her gloved hand, but then Jeongyeon’s hand is in hers. They shake hands, eyes locked, and Nayeon can’t help but feel like something important just happened.  
  
It is, all things considered, just a handshake, but Nayeon knows it’s the first sign of any sort of trust between them. Nayeon has a feeling there’s miles to go before she’ll ever feel any sort of comfortable with Jeongyeon watching her back, but they have to start somewhere. Nayeon trusts Jihyo, and she let’s that be enough for now.  
  
There’s a weight to this moment, one that prevents Nayeon from taking her hand away even after they finished the shaking motion. But Jeongyeon isn’t moving either, and Nayeon would question it further if she could bring herself to look away from Jeongyeon’s face. She finds herself studying the slight quirk of her lips, the scar along the curve of her jaw.  
  
She tries to solidify the facts in her mind: her and Yoo Jeongyeon are linked now. They’d have to learn to live with and die for each other with no shred of hesitation. Unless Jihyo ever said otherwise, they were partners.  
  
Jeongyeon nods right as Nayeon finishes that thought, and she briefly considers the fact that Jeongyeon is a mind reader before remembering that it isn’t on her powers list. Jeongyeon pulls her hand away, and the world rushes back in. “I’ll see you in fifteen,” Jeongyeon says, and then Nayeon is alone in the conference room, watching the door slide shut once more. She flexes her hand, watching the black fabric of her sleeve slide back into place. She could spend time dwelling on what exactly had just happened, but today was already shaping up to be strange enough.  
  
She turns and begins walking out of the room, promising herself that she’ll sort all of this out later. First, she has to go get her stuff from her apartment, which is definitely not the gym Jihyo apparently expected her to have her stuff in. She picks up her speed as she walks down the hallway, feet beginning to lift ever so slightly off of the ground. She can definitely make it back in fifteen minutes.  
  
//

Jeongyeon takes a deep breath and curses Im Nayeon in every language she knows. Who the hell takes more than 20 minutes to grab their gear from their usual gym and get to another one? Jeongyeon knows for a fact that the gyms are ten minutes apart at most. She remembers spying on the planning meeting back in the day; she briefly wonders if Jihyo ever found out about those secret tunnels they were planning on installing in and around the training facilities.  
  
She tries not to look at the woman standing three feet to her left. The thoughts she had earlier are still running around her head, but this time they’re accompanied by a twinge of guilt. She’s better than that, or at the very least, she should be. Though—Jeongyeon hears Jihyo’s foot tap against the floor and fights down the spike of anger that stabs through her— Jeongyeon thinks there’s something to be said for Jihyo’s approach earlier.  
  
She’s not responsible for Jihyo’s actions, though. Only how she reacts to things. She reminds herself that she wants to be a good person, even if the people around her aren’t. Jeongyeon opens her mouth, something close to an apology on the tip of her tongue, but then Jihyo speaks.  
  
“If you’re going to break the rules and access information about experiments whose existence you shouldn’t even know of, at least have the control to not blurt them out in front of people who don’t have the clearance to know about them.” Jihyo’s tone is as formal as Jeongyeon’s ever heard it, and her apology stings as she swallows it back down.  
  
Jeongyeon turns now, meets Jihyo’s stare head on. Indignation roars in her chest. “If you want people out of your systems, Director Park, perhaps you should use different network architecture than that which was taught ages ago. I work in the lab. I have a right to know where my work is going”  
  
Jihyo raises an eyebrow. “You begged me to place you in that job to avoid missions,” Jihyo says, voice harsh. Jeongyeon flinches at the reminder and hopes that Jihyo doesn’t notice. “Don’t pretend that it’s your true passion. Additionally, the the systems are updated monthly.”  
  
Jeongyeon shrugs, does her best to mask her embarrassment with flippancy. “Ah, yes. Park Jihyo The Benevolent. How kind of you to allow me to not be fully conscripted into the job my childhood was lost to.” Jeongyeon feels a sneer curl her lips and figures that irritation is better than letting Jihyo know of the feelings her words stir up.  
  
“Additionally,” Jeongyeon continues, voice mocking, “if you want me out of your systems, stop having the man that taught me everything I know about hacking be in charge of them.”  
  
“You came back willingly. Don’t act like I forced you back here at gunpoint!” The words seem to tear themselves from Jihyo’s throat, and all Jeongyeon can do is stare for a moment. Jihyo’s eyes are wide, and her breath is coming a bit faster than normal.  
  
Jeongyeon is thrown off, but she knows that she has to respond. The words don’t come out of her mouth smoothly, but she gets them out there. “You and I both know things are never that simple. I became a Triune. The Agency was going to make sure I ended up here. Again.” Her voice sounds thin to her own ears, and Jeongyeon wonders when telling the truth became such a tiring endeavor.  
  
Jihyo looks at her, jaw twitching, and Jeongyeon braces herself for a rebuttal. She doesn’t want to be fighting this fight, but she doesn’t really have a choice at this point. Jihyo closes her eyes, looks down for just a moment. Jeongyeon doesn’t miss the way the air grows more humid. When she looks up at Jeongyeon again, her eyes are two different colors, and Jeongyeon realizes that Jihyo is having trouble controlling whatever it is she’s feeling.  
  
Jihyo’s eyes are green and purple now, a far cry from the brown Jeongyeon is used to, but she can read the exhaustion in them all the same. Ever so briefly, it sparks something protective in her, and Jeongyeon panics. A familiar wave runs through her before she can think twice about it, and then she suddenly has the moment of peace she's been craving since this meeting started.  
  
Without the pressure to respond to Jihyo, Jeongyeon is able to let herself feel the force of her emotions, and she is thoroughly unsurprised by the fact that tears are beginning to well in her eyes. This isn’t the first time she’s halted time to give herself a moment of composure, and she knows it won’t be the last. Some may consider it cheating, sure, but Jeongyeon likes to consider restitution for all the bullshit she’s had to deal with.  
  
Jeongyeon avoids looking at Jihyo. She knows how this plays out. Arguing won’t help either of them, and she doesn’t need herself feeling sorry for a woman who is exactly where she wants to be in life. She tries to center herself quickly. Nayeon could be coming down the hallway any minute now, and Jeongyeon doesn’t know if she has the energy to extend her time field far enough out to catch Nayeon before she could realize something is off.  
  
She gives herself thirty seconds to get it together, and she spends them running her fingers through her hair, reminding herself that this moment isn’t forever. She’ll get through this, and she’ll get through the next several hours. And then she can go home.  
  
Jeongyeon takes one last look at a frozen Jihyo, and then she lets the time field fall. Jihyo’s eyes hold the same look in them, and Jeongyeon is thankful she was able to step away.  
  
She holds up a hand right as Jihyo opens her mouth to speak. “Wait. Let’s not do this here. Nayeon should be here soon.”  
  
Jihyo blinks and nods, and then Jeongyeon is once again looking into a familiarly inscrutable shade of brown. Whatever emotion was on Jihyo's face is gone now. “You’re right. I’m sorry for my tone. That was highly unprofessional.”  
  
“I’m sorry as well, Director Park.”  
  
They slip back into their roles with practiced ease, and Jeongyeon knows that, just like her, Jihyo has no intention of apologizing for the actual words she said.  
  
Nayeon’s voice echoes down the hallway, and Jeongyeon thinks that she’ll never be more grateful for Nayeon than she is in this moment. They both watch as Nayeon rounds the corner, cheeks flushed.  
  
Jihyo immediately steps forward, concern in her voice, and Jeongyeon watches how easily she interacts with Nayeon. They’re comfortable together, and it shows in the way they move about each other. For a handful of seconds, before Jihyo learns the actual reason Nayeon was late (Jeongyeon rolls her eyes. She keeps her gear in her apartment? Ridiculous.) and out of breath, Jeongyeon gets to hear Jihyo speak with care and sincerity.  
  
For a handful of seconds, Jeongyeon gets to see and hear the Jihyo that apparently exists around Im Nayeon, and she doesn’t even bother to fight the shadow of jealousy and defeat that steals over her.

//  
  
Nayeon looks around the gym Jihyo lead them to with curiosity. Jihyo had explained that this gym in particular would be accessible only to the three of them, and it had sent a thrill through Nayeon. She had heard about the specialized gyms before. They were spoken about in hushed whispers amongst higher level Triunes, but this just looked like a regular gym with a slightly darker color scheme.  
  
“I know this looks basically the same.” Jihyo’s voice startles her out of her musings. “But I promise you that there is more to this space than meets the eye. Today, I’ll run you both through what makes this room tick, and tomorrow we can go over the training in more detail.”  
  
“Do we not get to know what our actual training program is going to be before tomorrow? I want at least one day to prepare myself mentally for what this is about to be,” Nayeon says, eyes running over the familiar training bags and weights scattered around the room. This gym seems slightly larger than what she’s used to, but all of the equipment appears to be the same. She smiles when she sees the sparring mats stacked in the corner. She absolutely can’t wait to get Jeongyeon on one of those.  
  
Jeongyeon and Jihyo speak at the same time, startling Nayeon. “It’s in the folder.”  
  
“Oh.”  
  
No one speaks for several seconds.  
  
Nayeon clears her throat. “I think I left my folder in the conference room.”  
  
Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Jihyo smile. “Essentially, we’ll be doing hand-to-hand combat, strategy and teamwork exercises, and one other piece that I believe will be crucial to your success. That part is a surprise.”  
  
Nayeon is almost certain she hears Jeongyeon mutter a “whoop-dee-do” behind her, but she elects to ignore it in the face of Jihyo striding over to a panel on the other side of the room.  
  
“We enlisted some very talented individuals to help us create this space,” Jihyo explains. “They had powers that made the building easier, but most importantly, they were engineering, architecture, and design whizzes.”  
  
“Who the fuck still says ‘whizzes’?” Nayeon has to fight back a flinch as Jeongyeon’s voice sounds far closer to her ear than she expected. She turns, glaring at the womans standing only a couple feet away from her.  
  
“Can you shut up,” Nayeon hisses. “Some of us would like to know what we’re doing.”  
  
“I doubt learning about this gym will help you figure that one out,” Jeongyeon shoots back.  
  
A low mechanical sound interrupts Nayeon’s comeback, and all thoughts of Jeongyeon are wiped from her mind as she watches part of the gym begin to shift. The floor on the other side of the room lowers, and when it raises back up, it’s been covered in what can only be described as an obstacle course that stretches from floor to very high ceiling. Nayeon has never seen anything quite like it.  
  
“As you can see,” Jihyo says, stepping back into Nayeon’s view, “no expense was spared in creating this facility. If you follow me, I’ll take you through to our terrain rooms."  
  
Nayeon grins, following after Jihyo without an ounce of hesitation.  
  
//  
  
Jeongyeon enters her apartment and removes her shoes with what can only be described as a complete and utter lack of grace. She knows there’s another pair of shoes right by the entryway, left there after she had made the last minute decision to change her entire outfit before this evening's meeting. She knocks into them anyway, letting her feet bump against the shoes in a way that almost sends her stumbling.  
  
She moves to switch the light on, but the exhaustion coursing through her has her heading towards the couch instead. She knows that, physically, she’s fine. They didn’t really do much of anything today aside from walking around, but even thinking about Jihyo or Nayeon is enough to make her feel like she’s just run ten marathons. Pretending that she wasn’t intimately familiar with every corner of that gym was a challenge unto itself. Her and Jihyo had spent many a day there, toiling away over new strategies and challenges. It appears to have been upgraded since Jeongyeon left, but the bulk of it remains the same.

She moves through the kitchen and towards the living room, socked feet sliding briefly on the hardwood floor.  
  
Jeongyeon falls down onto the couch and waits for her beloved roommate to join her. A few seconds pass, and Jeongyeon tries not to think about the way Jihyo had looked at her when she had hurled angry thoughts her way.  
  
Jeongyeon has made peace with what Jihyo did to her; she really has. But making peace doesn’t mean forgiving, and it doesn’t mean forgetting. What it means is that, most days, Jeongyeon can look at Jihyo and feel nary a ripple of emotion.  
  
On those days, acknowledging Jihyo is easy. Jihyo is Jihyo is Director Park, and Jeongyeon treats her with a respectful detachment. Jihyo does much of the same, briefs Jeongyeon on her occasional mission like they both don’t know that Jeongyeon has had this protocol memorized for well over a decade. Jihyo visits the lab to check on progress, but Jeongyeon knows that’s mostly just for Tzuyu.  
  
It’s sweet, truly, to see Jihyo completely transform around Jeongyeon’s fellow scientist. Tzuyu melts as well, the usually calm woman slipping into visible joy. It makes her happy, even if a note of bitterness sometimes echoes throughout her chest.  
  
And then there are the other days.  
  
They’re rare, but they happen.  
  
They are the days like today, where Jihyo says something, does something, and it sparks a weathered rage in Jeongyeon’s chest. It’s when Jihyo stands before her, spine straight and eyes calm, and changes the course of Jeongyeon’s life with a command. It’s when Jeongyeon is so forcefully reminded of their checkered past.  
  
_You’re a pawn_, her mind taunts. _You’ll always be just a tool to her._  
  
Yes, they had made a deal when Jeongyeon had first arrived, and yes, Jihyo had stuck to deploying her only on the occasional recon and surveillance missions, but the fact remained that Jeongyeon marched and halted by Jihyo’s command. Her record would show a Triune with zero missions to their name, but Jeongyeon remembered them all.  
  
When these things come to mind, the rage does not simmer or explode. It compresses, embraces these thoughts and weighs itself down with them until it is compact enough for Jeongyeon to take aim at Jihyo. On those days, Jeongyeon never misses, because there are certain things Jihyo will always be weak to, even if only Jeongyeon knows they exist. She does it as a reminder to the both of them: Jihyo may direct Jeongyeon’s life, but Jeongyeon still knows how to make her bleed.  
  
She knows that today’s outburst will just get buried, left unexamined and untouched amongst the debris of what their relationship used to be. They had never really spoken about their history together. When Jeongyeon had first arrived, she had found herself unable to say the words. Her and Jihyo would discuss missions or her new lab assignment, but that was it. As time passed, it became clear that Jihyo wasn’t going to start the conversation either.  
  
All Jeongyeon has are the words of an old letter burned into her mind, echoes of apologies that it seemed she would never hear straight from the source. She had allowed herself to be hopeful upon her return, but it didn’t take long for that to fade, replaced with a now familiar ache. She would set out to make progress, but things would inevitably end up back where they started, if not worse. It was cyclical, and tiring, and Jeongyeon still doesn’t know if it’s even worth it anymore.  
  
And here she is, sitting on her couch, condemned to dedicate at least two years of her life to a mission involving The Ghost of Fuckups Past and a partner who seemed crafted to get on Jeongyeon’s nerves. Things had gotten slightly better after their conversation in the conference room, but Jeongyeon still found herself gritting her teeth in annoyance whenever Nayeon would ask a question about their new training facility.   
  
She needs a distraction, and for just a moment, she considers turning on her Sight to see where the other occupant of her apartment is. She decides against it, though. The surprise is half of the fun. She slides her hand into her pocket and grabs her phone. It's been awhile since she’s heard from Chaeyoung. Maybe she should give her a call, see if whatever part of the world she’s currently in has decent cell service.  
  
She has her phone halfway out of her pocket when a rustling noise from across the room catches her attention. Jeongyeon grins and pushes her phone back down. There’s another rustle, this one only a few feet away, and Jeongyeon can perfectly picture what’s about to happen.  
  
Jeongyeon doesn’t flinch when the weight lands on her chest, just moves her head forward to meet the headbutt she knows is coming her way. “Hey girl,” she murmurs, laughing as a furry face meets hers. “I was wondering what took you so long. Were you asleep?” She curls her fingers into soft fur, letting the vibrations from Lego’s purring begin to ebb away the stress of the day.  
  
Jeongyeon hugs Lego a bit closer, glad that she’s staying put instead of scampering off into the dark. “My day kinda sucked, but now I get to sleep.”  
  
Jeongyeon starts slightly when a paw taps against her cheek, and she knows that, if not for the tip of Lego’s unsheathed claws tapping her cheek, she’d find the motion sweet.  
  
Lego meows, headbutts Jeongyeon again.  
  
“Alright, alright,” Jeongyeon says, moving to get up off the couch and watching Lego dart off. Jeongyeon knows exactly where she’s going. It’s an hour or so past the time she would normally be fed, and frankly, Jeongyeon is surprised that she hadn’t been accosted the moment she walked in.  
  
Several minutes later, Lego is having the time of her life eating dinner, and Jeongyeon is struggling to stay awake. The tabletop is cool against her face, and she’s so very tired. The bed is far, and Jeongyeon has laid her head in places far more uncomfortable than a kitchen table. She gives a thought to setting an alarm on her phone, but, as the haze of sleep begins to set in, she lets herself be reassured by the fact that Lego will wake her up as she does every morning: by climbing on top of her head at approximately 6:41 am.  
  
She drifts off, final thoughts swirling around the idea of what tomorrow could bring.  
  
//  
  
When Nayeon swings her door open, she finds herself immediately disappointed at the sight. When she had pulled Jihyo aside after their mission orientation and demanded that they meet tonight, she had, at the very least, expected Jihyo to show up with food. The best case scenario was a bottle of vodka, but Nayeon had a feeling that would have been a little bit too far from professional for Jihyo’s tastes.  
  
Instead, Jihyo stands in front of her with nothing in her hands, still dressed in the same clothes as she had been earlier in the day. Her arms are crossed, mouth drawn tight, and Nayeon knows this is her “I don’t have a lot of time” face. Unfortunately for Jihyo and her plans, Nayeon has a lot of questions.  
  
She steps back, allowing Jihyo to come into her apartment, and it isn’t until the sound of the door closing has echoed throughout the apartment that Nayeon speaks. “Jihyo, please tell me this is an elaborate joke.”  
  
Jihyo sighs, arms uncrossing and falling to her sides. “Nayeon, you know we can’t talk about agency business in this setting.”  
  
Nayeon rolls her eyes, moving to grab Jihyo’s hand and pull her over to her couch, but she stops when she sees her bare hands. She turns with a huff and grabs the gloves sitting on her kitchen counter, slipping them on before turning around, only to see that Jihyo has already taken a seat.  
  
“You know,” Jihyo says, gesturing at Nayeon as she moves to join her on the couch, “if you had just worn your gloves like you always do, this morning would’ve gone a lot smoother.”  
  
Nayeon scoffs, rolling her eyes. “Don’t even try and put that on me. Jeongyeon was uptight from the get go. It seems like she was hellbent on pissing both of us off. Did someone bribe you into putting her on the team or what?” Nayeon laughs as she finishes her sentence, but it catches in her throat when she sees how Jihyo is looking at her.  
  
“Nayeon,” Jihyo says, fiddling with a pen in the pocket of her blazer, “I know that, from where you’re sitting, Jeongyeon seems like the last person that should be on this mission, but I need to ask you a favor. I need you to trust me.”  
  
There’s no levity in Jihyo’s voice, nothing to indicate that she is being anything other than entirely sincere with Nayeon. But Nayeon still doesn’t understand. “She has no experience! Jihyo, you know I trust you to do your job, but this doesn’t seem like the type of mission someone should cut their teeth on,” Nayeon exclaims. Nayeon knows that she has to be missing something, because otherwise, Jihyo has lost her damn mind. She falls back into the couch, eyes searching Jihyo’s face for any sort of explanation.  
  
Jihyo closes her eyes and sighs. She drops her head, and Nayeon watches as she runs her hands through her hair. As the strands pass through her fingers, Jihyo’s hair shifts into a dirty blonde color. Nayeon sees the pen floating in the air out of the corner of her eye.  
  
Nayeon knows to wait, and at least a minute passes before Jihyo straightens up. When she does, her hair is its natural color, and the pen is on Nayeon’s floor. She’s still not looking at Nayeon, though.  
  
“It’s not my place to give you details, but I swear to you that I mean it when I say that Jeongyeon is one of the most talented Triunes I’ve ever met. Her skill set compliments yours perfectly.”  
  
Nayeon opens her mouth to ask what exactly what skill set Jihyo is referring to and where she herself could maybe see any proof of it’s existence.  
  
But Jihyo isn’t done speaking. She turns, locks eyes with Nayeon.  
  
“I’d trust Jeongyeon with my life, as strange as that may sound to you. It sounds strange to me too, honestly. But it’s true.”  
  
And Nayeon has no idea what to say to that, because where would she even begin?  
  
A wry smile comes to Jihyo’s lips, and she laughs quietly. “Striking you silent is always an accomplishment.”  
  
Nayeon only continues to stare, gaze following Jihyo as she stands from Nayeon’s couch and brushes nonexistent lint off of her pants. “I’m sure you’d love to keep me here longer and ask me every question under the sun, but I promised Tzuyu I’d come over today. I’ve been so busy preparing for this that we haven’t seen each other lately.”  
  
The pen rises into Jihyo’s outstretched hand, and Nayeon finally finds her voice. “I’ll give it a week,” she says, continuing at Jihyo’s confused look. “I’ll give training with her one week, but if I still feel like she’s not a good fit, I’m going to need you to answer my questions. I’m not going into a mission this high priority with someone incompetent.”  
  
Jihyo nods. “One week should be more than enough. Have a good night, Nayeon.”  
  
And Jihyo leaves.  
  
And Nayeon stares at the closed door, trying to place the strange ache in her chest. She shakes her head, trying to snap herself out of it. There’s something about Jihyo and Jeongyeon that she’s not putting together, or something that she’s not supposed to put together.  
  
Nayeon meant what she said about giving her all for a week before coming back to Jihyo with concerns, but that doesn’t mean she’s going to accept everything she’s told at face value.  
  
There’s something off about Jeongyeon, and Nayeon vows that, regardless of what anyone else wants, she’s going to figure out what it is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The main gang is all here! I'd also like to thank two of my pals for giving me the inspiration to give Jeongyeon a cat. Lego immediately became very near and dear to me. Additionally, thank you all for your patience and support =]
> 
> Catch me @2yeonaus if you're so inclined!


	4. To Spill or Not to Spill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Training begins.

Jeongyeon shifts, vaguely aware of the fact that one side of her head is extremely warm and the other is pressed into something that is decidedly not her pillow. She moves again and feels the weight on her head match her movements. Awareness trickles in as she tries in vain to lift her head once more. Things slide fully into place when she opens her eyes and catches a glimpse of her front door.  
  
She had fallen asleep on the kitchen table. She, a fully-grown adult, had made the semi-conscious decision to sleep on a wooden surface with her back at a terrible angle as opposed to walking the short distance to her bed. She knows that past Jeongyeon’s heart had been in the right place, but she also knows that her past self had been an idiot.  
  
She lifts her hand up, laughing when she feels Lego push off of her head to leap down onto the floor. An impatient meow quickly follows, and Jeongyeon knows a call to action when she hears one. She stands up, wincing at the soreness in her back. Her first stretch is slow, and she ignores the sound of Lego’s bowl being knocked around the floor.  
  
Jeongyeon’s eyes dart over to the clock on the wall as she rolls out her neck. She has about 3 hours before she’s supposed to meet Nayeon and Jihyo at the gym to begin their training. In truth, Jeongyeon had been surprised when Jihyo told them to meet at 10am instead of 6am, but she isn’t complaining. There’s a few things she’d like to do this morning before beginning whatever the hell Jihyo has planned for them.  
  
It’s been awhile since Jihyo’s overseen any of her training, but Jeongyeon remembers the pain well. Three hours, and then she’d have to be in that gym for who knows how many hours, watching Nayeon inevitably walk around and gawk at everything and nothing. And then they’d go sit in a far too stuffy room, probably in The Library, and go over strategies that would likely fall apart as soon as they entered the field.  
  
The sound of Lego’s bell manages to pull her out of thoughts, and she glances down just in time to be headbutted. “Oops, sorry, bud,” she says, moving to get out Lego’s food and place it in her bowl. She’s not looking to stave off a mutiny this early in the morning.  
  
She gets smacked in the face with a tail for her efforts and considers it a win.  
  
She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, placing her palms on the countertop to support her weight. There’s no reason for her to be dinging on Jihyo’s training regiment already. Jihyo knew what she was doing, and it would be fine. She gives herself one last moment to sink against the countertop before she pushes herself off of it, ready as she’d ever be to start her day.  
  
Jeongyeon walks into her room and makes her way over to her closet. She rifles through the hangers until she finds the clothes she’s looking for. The black training suit is smooth to the touch, but Jeongyeon grimaces regardless. She had never enjoyed wearing this outfit, more for the association than anything else. She never did quite look like herself in it.  
  
Today is different, though. Today she has a point to prove. She knows, even without Nayeon’s input, that she looks pretty pathetic on paper. Jeongyeon doesn’t really care if Nayeon thinks she’s a terrible person or not. What she does care about is Nayeon feeling free to assume that she’s going to be some sort of dead weight on missions.  
  
Jeongyeon’s always been the leader when it comes to erasing her own history and competency. She can’t exactly blame Nayeon for being doubtful, but she can absolutely blame her for the haughty looks and overall crappy personality. Part of her wants to push back harder, to dig her heels in and appear as useless as Nayeon has deemed her to be, but that’s a step too far for a mission like this. To succeed, they need to know exactly what the other is capable of.  
  
Today, she’ll knock Nayeon on her ass and set her straight. Today, she’ll make it clear that Yoo Jeongyeon is not useless.  
  
She raises her eyes, lingering on the one or two cracks that mar the otherwise pristine white of her ceiling, and reminds herself of Nayeon’s combat scores.  
  
Well, if she can’t knock Nayeon on her ass, she’ll settle for a good right hook or two.  
  
//  
  
“You sure you’ve never heard of her?”  
  
“Nayeon,” Jennie says, slowly placing down her fork before covering Nayeon’s hand with her own, “you’re a good person, but if you ask me that again, I’m going to freeze you and have Jae teleport you to a desert.”  
  
Yeri chokes out a laugh, trying and failing to smother it with a sip of her coffee.  
  
Nayeon rolls her eyes and pulls her hand back to cross her arms. “I just find it ridiculous that no one knows her! You know everyone. You were my last hope.”  
  
Jennie shrugs and picks her fork back up. “I know almost everyone,” she corrects, spearing a piece of melon from Nayeon’s plate. “I see new faces around here all the time. If she’s only been here for 2 years, it’s possible she’s just been on a mission or hidden away in one of our other labs somewhere.”  
  
Nayeon shakes her head, waving away Jennie’s suggestions. “No, no. It’s not that. She doesn’t do missions, and she’s been stationed here the whole time.”  
  
Nayeon thinks back to her early morning escapade, a fruitless hour spent scouring the library for any mention of Yoo Jeongyeon. There were no mission logs or internal write-ups bearing her name, and when Nayeon did a search for a similar power profile, all she could find were snippets of records that were well over a decade old, describing enhancement methods for X-ray vision.  
  
And so Nayeon had officially given up on formal channels, deciding that she needed to turn to the one person who knew the personal going-ons of Agency members better than anyone.  
  
Jennie continues to steal from Nayeon’s plate, and Nayeon does nothing to stop her, having already given up on the morning.  
  
“Why do you even care so much,” Yeri asks “You said you saw her for the first time like two days ago in the hallway and that was it. Did something else happen?”  
  
“I was surprised to see a new face talking so familiarly with Director Park and got curious. That’s all there is to it,” Nayeon lies, well aware that only the last part is inaccurate.  
  
Yeri tilts her head, and Nayeon doesn’t miss the way her eyes narrow. She prays that, just this once, her friend decides to let something slide and ignore the fact that she has the ability to pull the truth out of people.  
  
Thankfully, Yeri only shrugs before returning her attention to her cereal. “I’m sure you’ll find out who she is eventually. It’s only been like two days.”  
  
Nayeon sighs, mouth opening to make a comment about how low her hopes are, but then Jennie speaks. And Nayeon realizes that she had miscalculated. She had been paying attention only to Yeri when answering the question. Jennie didn’t know who Jeongyeon was, and that should’ve been that. But—  
  
“Nay, there’s no need to skirt around things. We’re all adults. If you’re trying to scope out a new fuckbuddy, you can just tell us.”  
  
The cup in her hands groans underneath the strain of her sudden grip.  
  
She turns her head slowly, trying to work through the words that were just flung at her, and freezes at the playful smirk on Jennie’s features.  
  
Yeri bursts into laughter just as the words finish making their way through Nayeon’s brain. It’s clear that Jennie has gotten her wires, horribly, horribly crossed. She thought that Nayeon wanted. Well. Wanted Jeongyeon.  
  
“Hell no!” Nayeon jerks backwards as she protests, realizing half a second later that she’s essentially just thrown a cup of juice at herself.  
  
//  
  
Jeongyeon takes a deep breath and slowly exhales. She pushes open the door in front of her with an easy confidence, smiling as she looks upon the frozen faces of her fellow Triunes and Agency workers. She navigates the frozen crowds with ease, stopping briefly here and there to reorganize some hazardous trays or save a wayward muffin on its way to the floor.  
  
She works quickly, not out of concern for her energy reserves, but out of a desire to get in and out as quickly as she can. As fun as seeing people frozen mid conversation or mid-sneeze is, Jeongyeon never feels too comfortable surrounded by Triunes. She knows they’re good people for the most part, but she doesn’t enjoy the unease that comes with meeting someone new in this place.  
  
Everyone in this building had sworn to be loyal to the Agency, had promised to do their best or die trying. So maybe they’re friendly people, but Jeongyeon isn’t going to fool herself into thinking that they don’t view the Agency with the same rose-colored glasses she used to.  
  
Additionally, freezing everyone in a single rooms means that she doesn’t have to worry where she should sit or about sending forced half-smiles at strangers she makes eye contact with. Jeongyeon has already lived through highschool once, thank you very much.  
  
One omelette, a muffin, a few pieces of fruit, and one cup of coffee later, Jeongyeon is on her way out when something manages to catch her eye from across the cafeteria. She squints, trying to confirm what she thought she had seen. Because if she’s indeed looking at what she thinks she is, Jeongyeon might just let the time field fall while she’s still in the cafeteria.  
  
Jeongyeon walks closer and can’t help but laugh. There, right in front of her, is her lovely partner, frozen in the midst of a lively looking breakfast conversation. Nayeon’s features are pulled taut, and Jeongyeon can read both fear and disgust in the contortions of her face.  
  
The pièce de résistance, though, the thing that’s pulled Jeongyeon across the cafeteria as if summoned by a siren song, is the cup of juice in Nayeon’s hand that seems half a second away from emptying itself onto her shirt. Jeongyeon lets out a mocking sigh and shakes her head. A few drops have already made contact with Nayeon’s light green shirt (not standard issue training gear, Jeongyeon notes with some surprise), and the rest will be soon to follow the moment Jeongyeon drops her time field.  
  
After a few more seconds of imagining just how fun it would be to watch Nayeon splash herself with orange juice, Jeongyeon turns and begins to move towards the door. She knows that going back to real time while she’s in the cafeteria would be more hassle than it was worth.  
  
She stops halfway to the door, turning back to look at Nayeon once more. She deserves to be splattered in juice. Jeongyeon knows this to be true. But.  
  
She takes a step towards Nayeon. Another. And yet another. Before she can think too much about it, Jeongyeon is there, tugging the cup out of Nayeon’s hand and using it to collect the juice scattered throughout the air.  
  
There we go, she thinks. No mess in sight, and Nayeon will be in even higher spirits for Jeongyeon to tear her down from later.  
  
She turns, whistling a rhythmless tune as she moves to the door. She crosses the threshold and lets the time field drop. The echoes of the morning rush follow her down the hall, fading as she makes her way to her next destination.  
  
//  
  
Nayeon screams, eyes screwed shut as she anticipates the feeling of the cold juice soaking into her clothes. A moment passes, and she slowly opens her eyes, only to see a full and stable cup of juice in her hand and the curious and amused gazes of her friends across the table.  
  
“I don’t,” Nayeon begins, looking back at the cup in her hand. She had seen the liquid begin to fly towards her, she was sure of it. “Um. Sorry. I thought I had just thrown juice at myself.”  
  
“You did move pretty aggressively,” Yeri says, “and I’m also kinda shocked that you aren’t covered in juice and screaming right now. Also, disappointed.”  
  
Jennie shrugs. “Luck of the physics draw, I guess. Though, I gotta say. That was a pretty powerful reaction you had just now. Is she that ugly in person or something? The picture you showed us was cute.”  
  
“No, she’s not ugly,” Nayeon answers, lifting her hand to her forehead to try and stave off the headache she could already feel forming. “I’m just horrified by what you said, so please never say it again.”  
  
“Your loss,” Jennie says, shrugging. “Anyway, I’m having a get together this weekend with a dozen or so people. You down, Im?”  
  
Yeri scoffs. “You already know she’s going to say no.”  
  
“I believe in dreaming,” Jennie begins, hand rising to rest above her heart as she continues. “Shooting for the stars. Baby to be—”  
  
Nayeon snorts, tries not to give Jennie the satisfaction of a full laugh, but then Yeri is throwing her napkins at her, yelling about Jennie’s ‘lame sense of humor’, and Nayeon knows that Jennie will consider it a win anyway.  
  
After a few seconds the battle dies out, Jennie now surrounded by crumpled napkins, and Nayeon can’t help but grin at her war-flushed friends. “You’re ridiculous.”  
  
Jennie just shrugs, lips stretching a little wider, and shoots Nayeon a wink. “You know you wouldn’t have it any other way.”  
  
(Nayeon remembers the smell of smoke, the way it had slithered into her lungs, relentless in its quest to smother her. The ash had been omnipresent, clinging to everything she could see, everything she could touch. There was no plant life here, only the heat and the dark.  
  
She couldn’t have flown away even if her leg wasn’t trapped under a fallen steel beam. She was drained and beaten, the steady pulse of the flames the only thing keeping her company. Nayeon had wondered, briefly, if the heat would fade once she started dying, or if the searing pain would only continue to grow until it was the only thing she knew.  
  
But then the world freezes over, and the metal covering Nayeon’s leg begins to bite into her skin instead of melt it. And then Jennie is there and the weight over her leg is gone.  
  
A hand reaches down to her. “Up and at ‘em, Agent 113. We have a mission report to do, and there’s no way I’m doing it by myself.”)  
  
“Maybe,” Nayeon says, “but either way, I’m still not coming to your party.”  
  
“Boo.”  
  
“Double boo.”  
  
//  
  
Jeongyeon checks the lab before she walks in, happy when she sees only one person inside of it. She bumps her hip against the electric lock, trying again when it fails to register the key card in her pocket. A happy beep, a green light, and then she’s in.  
  
“Knock, knock,” Jeongyeon calls, pushing the door behind her shut with her foot. “I come bearing gifts.”  
  
“Once again”—Jeongyeon smiles at the exasperated tone—“giving me a muffin that I tell you I don’t want isn’t a gift.”  
  
Jeongyeon follows the voice, making her way through the lab. “Ah, but it is if you always end up eating it.”  
  
“Is it?” Tzuyu comes into view as Jeongyeon turns the corner. “Is it really?”  
  
The sight in front of Jeongyeon is one she knows well: Tzuyu, wrapped in her pristine white lab coat, bent over a microscope with one hand poised to jot down notes and the other making focus adjustments. She realizes, suddenly, that for the foreseeable future, she’s not going to be seeing Tzuyu in the lab all that much anymore.  
  
“It is! The only reason you didn’t dissolve me in acid during my first week here was because I brought you a muffin.”  
  
Tzuyu lifts her head from the microscope, shooting Jeongyeon a glare that would’ve come off as murderous if not for the slight curl to her lips. “It was actually just because I couldn’t find the acid.”  
  
Jeongyeon jerks back in surprise, thankfully able to steady her tray before she spills coffee on the floor of a multi-million dollar lab. She fights off laughter in order to maintain a tone of affront as Tzuyu continues to glare at her. “Scientist Chou, how dare you?”  
  
“You didn’t know what a pipette was, Scientist Yoo.” Tzuyu’s tone remains level as she finishes her sentence, but her years of working with the other woman allow Jeongyeon to know that she’s being mocked.  
  
“But I’m a quick learner,” Jeongyeon says, grinning. She moves to place her tray down on the lab table next to her, but she pauses when she catches sight of the “NO FOOD ON THE WORKSTATIONS” sign in her peripheral. She takes a few more steps and sits down at her desk, more than ready to start eating.  
  
For a few minutes, the only sounds in the room are simple ones: Tzuyu’s microscope slides clinking against the lab bench as she works through them, Jeongyeon’s fork bumping against the plate as she eats her eggs.  
  
It’s nice, Jeongyeon decides, glancing up just in time to see Tzuyu scowling down at her microscope. Jeongyeon laughs, and Tzuyu just frowns when she meets her eyes.  
  
“Why are you even here,” she asks. “Don’t you usually eat breakfast outside? I wasn’t expecting you and your unwelcome muffin for at least another hour.”  
  
Jeongyeon freezes, final bite of her breakfast halfway to her mouth. “Did, uh, did Jihyo not tell you?”  
  
Tzuyu’s eyes narrow. “Did Jihyo not tell me what?”  
  
Jeongyeon stuffs food into her mouth to give herself a second to panic. She knows she could throw up a time field for more ‘Oh dear god, what do I say’ time, but she also knows that the clocks in the lab are finely calibrated. The first, and last time, she had stopped time in the lab, she had been subjected to an hour long lecture by the lab director.  
  
She had walked into the lab this morning under the assumption that Tzuyu would already know about the new mission. That had been her first mistake. Jeongyeon didn’t know what her second mistake would be, but she really hoped it wasn’t whatever she was going to say next.  
  
Tzuyu rounds her lab bench, not stopping until she’s standing in front of Jeongyeon’s desk. Confusion draws her brows together, and Jeongyeon resists the urge to blurt everything out.  
  
“Last night,” Tzuyu says, eyes analyzing Jeongyeon’s very slow and very methodical chewing, “Jihyo told me that she’d be stopping by the lab this morning to brief me on something. I assumed it was about a supplies shipment.”  
  
Jeongyeon makes a noise of acknowledgment while silently cursing Jihyo’s need for protocol above everything else. Why the hell hadn’t Jihyo said anything last night? Who schedules a morning meeting when they don’t have to?  
  
Jeongyeon finishes chewing, and the look on Tzuyu’s face tells her that it would be a bad move for her to try and take a very long and very measured sip of her coffee.  
  
“Are you going out on a mission?”  
  
Jeongyeon nods, anxiety flickering to life in her chest.  
  
She knows, from reading the report Jihyo had provided to them, that in a few months, her and Nayeon would be going out in the field for who knows how long, and she knows—_This is going to be a black-box mission_—that they may very well be forbidden from communicating with people back at the Agency.  
  
That it means eventually saying goodbye to Tzuyu for awhile.  
  
Tzuyu isn’t saying anything, only continuing to look more and more concerned. Jeongyeon stands, holds her head high, and looks Tzuyu in the eye.  
  
(Jeongyeon remembers how cold the lab was that first day, the way the chill had seeped through the thin cotton of her shirt, rushing in to greet her before anyone else could. The lab had been spotless, shining surfaces everywhere she looked. Almost everything was strange to her, a far cry from her high school lab room. There were no colorful posters of molecules here, just shelves and benches and cabinets. Just the chill and the blinding lights.  
  
She couldn’t have left the lab even if Jihyo wasn’t standing right behind her. This was her one chance to avoid constant field missions, and she needed to take it. As Jihyo led her deeper into the lab, Jeongyeon had wondered, briefly, if she would ever feel comfortable in this space, or if she would always feel the way that she now chafed against something she had once been so perfectly molded for.  
  
But then she had turned the corner and seen a young woman trying to build a house out of microscope slides, and suddenly the world felt a little lighter. The house had fallen, and the woman had pouted. Jeongyeon heard Jihyo chuckle behind her, and, paying no mind to the sudden look of embarrassment on the mystery woman’s face at being found out, had walked over to introduce herself.  
  
She had reached out a hand. “Hi, Yoo Jeongyeon. I know absolutely nothing about science, so I apologize in advance.”  
  
The embarrassment had quickly given way to curiosity. “Chou Tzuyu. I have a master’s degree. Acceptance of apology pending.”)  
  
“Listen, Tzuyu.” Jeongyeon sighs.  
  
The door slides open, and a voice reaches out to them; Jeongyeon doesn’t need her powers to know who it is.  
  
“Good morning!”  
  
Tzuyu smiles. Jeongyeon rolls her eyes. “Ridiculous.”  
  
“Shouldn’t you be worrying about the fact that you brought food into the lab?”  
  
“Jihyo doesn’t scare me, and besides, there’s no sign on my desk.”  
  
Tzuyu doesn’t respond, but Jeongyeon knows she’s smirking.  
  
Brat.  
  
Jihyo turns the corner and nods at both of them when she spots them. “Scientist Chou, good morning. Agent Yoo. I’m surprised to see you here, but that makes things easier.”  
  
Jihyo claps her hands together gently, settles into a stance Jeongyeon knows as her “Director Park” stance and opens her mouth to continue speaking.  
  
“We’re the only ones here, Jihyo,” Jeongyeon interrupts. “I checked when I walked in.”  
  
She’s seen Jihyo relax around Tzuyu before, but it still leaves her in minor shock every time she bears witness to it. Jihyo’s entire face opens up, her shoulders relax, and the smile the steals across her face is nothing short of glowing.  
  
And every time, without fail, Tzuyu matches her watt for watt.  
  
“How’s your morning going,” Jihyo asks, eyes soft.  
  
“Good,” Tzuyu answers. Pauses. “Could’ve been better if I hadn’t been woken up at 5am by my girlfriend stubbing her toe on her way out of my bed.”  
  
Jeongyeon grins at how easily Jihyo gets flustered, but then Jihyo’s eyes meet hers. And her expression shutters before she can even think twice about it. Something in her chest still sings unease at the disagreement they had yesterday. Even during one of their peaceful periods, sharing laughter with Jihyo still sometimes feels tense.  
  
It feels foreign to her, like something that isn’t hers to have. Jihyo, eyes bright, shoulders relaxed? That felt like something meant for past Jeongyeon, not her, not anymore.  
  
Silence stands between them for a moment, but then Jihyo speaks. “And your morning, Jeongyeon?”  
  
Jeongyeon clears her throat, tries to snap herself out of it. “Good. Woke up with my cat on my head, but good.”  
  
Jihyo smiles, and Jeongyeon relaxes despite the weight in her chest. “Isn’t that your everyday?”  
  
“Maybe. I also stole two minutes from everyone’s breakfast.”  
  
Jihyo rolls her eyes. “One day, someone else is going to find out about that, and they’re going to come for you. All it takes is someone with an analog watch.”  
  
Jeongyeon grins, leaning back against her desk. “They won’t come after me because no one knows who I am.”  
  
“She’s right, Jihyo,” Tzuyu interjects. “You know Jeongyeon fears the very concept of being known. That’s why she has two friends.”  
  
Jeongyeon turns, affronted, to see Tzuyu looking at the with a smile on her face, partially eaten muffin in hand. “Hold on a second,” Jeongyeon insists. “I have more than two friends!”  
  
Tzuyu raises an eyebrow. “List them.”  
  
“I am not listing my friends.”  
  
“Because you only have two of them.”  
  
“Oh my god,” Jeongyeon breathes. “Fine.”  
  
Jeongyeon shifts on her feet for a moment before answering. She knows her list is short, and she knows that Tzuyu knows that she knows her list is short.  
  
“I text some people from my college days every couple months.” Silence. “There’s Dahyun and Chaeyoung.” Tzuyu nods. “You.” A smile. “And Lego.”  
  
Jihyo bursts into laughter, and Jeongyeon whips around to face her, scowl at the ready. “Got a problem, Park?”  
  
“No,” Jihyo says, eyes playful, “just glad that you and Lego are on good terms after all these years.”  
  
“You say this like you don’t ask me about her at least five times a month.”  
  
Jihyo’s eyes widen briefly, and the smile on her lips grows. Some part of Jeongyeon knows that she still has things (many things) to be mad about, but she’s long since lost the ability to not fall into this familiar rhythm with Jihyo.  
  
“What about you two?” Tzuyu sounds genuinely curious.  
  
Jeongyeon keeps her eyes on Jihyo. She can’t tear her eyes away from the transformation that comes over the other woman’s face.  
  
“What?” Jeongyeon speaks and tries to ignore the strange shifting in her stomach. Jihyo isn’t looking away either, and Jeongyeon can see something akin to panic in her eyes.  
  
“Aren’t you two friends at this point? Jihyo smiles around you more than she does with most others.”  
  
In the edges of her vision, Jeongyeon sees Jihyo’s hand tighten around the edge of the table. Her grip loosens and then contracts again. She holds onto it as if it’s an anchor, but Jeongyeon doesn’t quite know why Jihyo of all people would need one.  
  
Jihyo’s eyes still haven’t left hers.  
  
Tzuyu doesn’t know. Jeongyeon forgets, far more often than she should, that Tzuyu only knows Jeongyeon’s false backstory. She doesn’t know about her history with Jihyo, has no idea the feelings she just invoked with her question.  
  
Jihyo waits for her to answer.  
  
Jeongyeon opens her mouth. She has no idea what she’s going to say, but she knows she needs to say something before the silence in the room becomes too heavy, too suspicious.  
  
But her brain can’t move past what Tzuyu said, which has to have been a mistake. Jihyo doesn’t want to be anything more than Jeongyeon’s supervisor. She’s made that more than clear over the years, and a few laughs here and there doesn’t change that.  
  
Jihyo’s eyes are light blue now. They remind Jeongyeon of the sky. The shadowed calm before the storm.  
  
“Jihyo and I—”  
  
“We can talk about Agent Yoo’s social life another time. I do actually have something important to talk to you about, Scientist Chou.”  
  
Or the shade of blue the sky dons on do-nothing days, when the clouds are still and the sun is just a little too hot.  
  
Jeongyeon feels hollow as her response withers on her lips. She still doesn’t quite know what she was going to say, but she knows that she was going to say something.  
  
Jihyo’s eyes are brown again. Another door shut in Jeongyeon’s face.  
  
Jihyo begins speaking about the mission, and Jeongyeon tunes her out to study the planes and curves of a face she knows all too well. This new mission meant that she’d be seeing a lot of Jihyo, more than she had since coming back.  
  
Jeongyeon doesn’t know exactly what it means, but she has a feeling it’s going to involve a lot more of staring at Jihyo in mild bewilderment. This Jihyo, ‘Yes ma’am, Director Park’ Jihyo, cut off and opened avenues of conversation as she saw fit, and Jeongyeon had never quite managed to keep up with it.  
  
“—can’t give you specifics just yet, but you’d be serving an occasional lab analyst role.”  
  
“Understood, Director Park,” Tzuyu says.  
  
Jihyo nods sharply, folds her hands behind her back. “Thank you, Scientist Chou.” A smile. Jeongyeon watches Jihyo’s hands twitch, reads timidness in the way mist slips through Jihyo’s fingertips. “I’ll see you for breakfast tomorrow?”  
  
Tzuyu says something that Jeongyeon doesn’t catch, but Jihyo leaves with a small smile on her face and a “See you shortly.” thrown in Jeongyeon’s direction.  
  
Then Tzuyu is standing in front of her, dry smile on her lips. “So they’re finally pulling you out of the lab.”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“And you had just learned how to use the centrifuge.”  
  
Tzuyu reaches out, and Jeongyeon closes the distance between them to pull her into a hug. “I’m gonna miss working with you, Tzuyu. Thanks for putting up with me.”  
  
Tzuyu squeezes her once and then pulls back, eyebrow raised. “Did you not hear what Jihyo said? I’m your lab tech for this mission.”  
  
Jeongyeon can’t believe what she’s hearing. “What?”  
  
“Yeah,” Tzuyu says, nodding. “We won’t see each other as much, but I’ll be around. We’re far enough along in that cell-coating experiment at this point. I can juggle another project or two.”  
  
Jeongyeon knocks her shoulder against Tzuyu’s. “Guess Jihyo couldn’t fully separate the dream team, huh?”  
  
Tzuyu smiles, clearly humoring her. “Something like that.”  
  
//  
  
“We’ll do points first,” Jihyo explains, eyes moving between them. “After you two are warmed up from that match, we’ll move to free sparring. No powers. Got it?”  
  
Nayeon nods, not taking her eyes off of Jeongyeon. They’re both breathing heavily, still recovering from the hours of drills Jihyo had just finished putting them through. Nayeon doesn’t miss the narrowing of Jeongyeon’s eyes or the way she seems to center herself as Jihyo raises her hand into the air.  
  
Jeongyeon’s right hand flexes, knuckles whitening for just a moment. Leading with a right jab? Fine. Nayeon would play nice until the free spar, and then she would put Yoo Jeongyeon in her place.  
  
“Begin!”  
  
The jab comes sailing in. Jeongyeon’s form is correct, elbow tucked in, thumb where it should be, but slow. Nayeon blocks it, knocks aside Jeongyeon’s attempt.  
  
Front kick. Her shoulders don’t drop, weight is on the back leg where it should be. But again, slow. Nayeon sidesteps, uses the momentum to throw an elbow at Jeongyeon’s head and is pleased when the strike is blocked.  
  
Nayeon sinks into the rhythm of a simple spar, thinking back to the start of their morning as Jeongyeon counters. Side kick. Downblock. Jeongyeon tries to knock her off balance, but Nayeon leans into it and throws a punch that Jeongyeon just barely manages to dodge.  
  
Jeongyeon had greeted her that morning, Jihyo had told them to start running, and that was that. It had almost been enough to make Nayeon second guess her desire to kick Jeongyeon’s ass, but the memory of yesterday was enough to keep her mission the same.  
  
Nayeon exhales as one of Jeongyeon’s punches glances directly off of her forearm. At least she could put power behind her punches. Nayeon isn’t impressed, though.  
  
And Jeongyeon is sloppy.  
  
“Point Nayeon!”  
  
Jihyo’s voice stops them, and Nayeon takes pleasure in slowly removing her gloved hand from its spot on Jeongyeon’s forehead. Jeongyeon scowls, and Nayeon bites back a remark.  
  
“Again.”  
  
Jeongyeon lunges forward, swing just a step short of wild, and Nayeon can’t fight her automatic response.  
  
She weaves around the punch and strikes. The noise of surprise that leaves Jeongyeon as Nayeon sinks her fist into her stomach is almost musical. Nayeon refrains from telling Jeongyeon that she should learn to tighten her stomach when fighting and commends herself for her self control.  
  
“Lucky shot, Im,” Jeongyeon says, voice strained despite her obvious efforts at composure.  
  
“You fight like a rookie. Actually, correction, you fight like a 10-year old who’s seen a martial arts movie and decided they want to be a ninja.”  
  
Well, she tried.  
  
“Reset. Point Nayeon” Jihyo’s voice is tense.  
  
For just a moment, it looks as though Jeongyeon is going to lunge at her again instead of resetting her stance, but then she shakes her head and moves back.  
  
“Match point Nayeon. Begin.”  
  
Nayeon tries not to scoff when Jeongyeon’s right shoulder drops as she moves forward. Any confidence Jeongyeon had generated slips away as Nayeon easily reads her movements. Nayeon doesn’t even let the punch fully extend, unwilling to waste any more of her time. She refuses to die in the field due to a partner’s incompetence, and if Jihyo won’t admit that Jeongyeon isn’t suited for this, Nayeon will just have to settle for making Jeongyeon realize that she’s in too deep.  
  
Nayeon’s right hand darts out, palm slamming into Jeongyeon’s shoulder. Jeongyeon cries out, and Nayeon faintly hears Jihyo call the match in her favor. There’s no satisfaction to be found here, no thrill of a victory well won. The blood rushing in her ears carries Nayeon forward, and she doesn’t hesitate as she shifts her strike into a firm grip on Jeongyeon’s shoulder. Her left hand raises to catch Jeongyeon’s falling punch, and she uses the easy leverage to sweep Jeongyeon’s legs out from underneath her.  
  
She doesn’t guide Jeongyeon’s movements, doesn’t make it any easier for her to cushion fall. She moves away as soon as the sweep is complete, watching Jeongyeon fall to the ground with a grim determination. Nayeon notes that she at least knows how to fall.  
  
For a moment, the only noise in the gym is that of Jeongyeon’s breathing. Her face is turned away from Nayeon, but Nayeon can see her irritation in the stiff way her body shifts on the mat. Nayeon keeps her eyes on Jeongyeon for a couple of different reasons, but one of them is because she doesn’t want to see how Jihyo is looking at her right now. Technically, Nayeon overstepped by continuing to attack her opponent after a point had been called.  
  
Nayeon bats away stray thoughts of having gone too far by reminding herself that she’s doing what’s best for all of them.  
  
Jeongyeon rises to her full height, rolling out her neck before looking to Jihyo. “Free spar now, right?”  
  
Nayeon tries to read the tone of Jeongyeon’s voice, but it’s flat, no hints of emotion for Nayeon to try and decipher. Jeongyeon’s stance gives nothing away, either. It’s loose, uninhibited, and Nayeon wonders where the irritation went.  
  
“Correct. Nayeon won the first match.” Jihyo’s voice is serious but light, and it carries none of the scorn Nayeon was expecting. She looks over and meets Jihyo’s steady gaze. “I believe you both know the rules of a free spar. Gloves off. You go until someone taps out. Please remember that this is meant to be a training exercise. You don’t want to seriously injure each other.”  
  
Jihyo’s gaze scans over both of them as they remove their gloves, searching. After a moment, she nods and gestures for both of them to assume the starting position. Nayeon settles into her stance and waits for Jeongyeon’s eyes to meet her own. Nayeon sees Jihyo’s hand lift out of the corner of her eye. Jeongyeon’s eyes stay on Jihyo.  
  
Jihyo starts her countdown. Jeongyeon’s eyes meet hers.  
  
“Three.”  
  
There’s a determination and anger in them that takes Nayeon aback for just a moment.  
  
“Two.”  
  
But Nayeon knows it won’t be enough. Jeongyeon isn’t on her level. No amount of hurt pride or rage would ever change that.  
  
“One.”  
  
And then Jeongyeon smiles.  
  
“Begin!”  
  
Jeongyeon moves through the space Jihyo’s hand had been occupying a second ago, and Nayeon finds herself blocking and dodging a barrage of punches. Jeongyeon’s moves are harder to foresee this time around, but it’s nothing Nayeon can’t handle. Still, she finds herself needing to catch her breath after she pushes Jeongyeon away with a side kick aimed at her ribs. Her forearms are pulsing slightly, smarting from Jeongyeon’s blows, but it’s a dull and familiar pain that Nayeon easily dismisses.  
  
The smile on Jeongyeon’s face has grown, and it stays in place as her and Nayeon begin to slowly circle each other on the mat. “Having trouble breathing there, Im?”  
  
Indignation flares. “Just surprised to see you displaying competence. It doesn’t matter, though. You’re still useless.”  
  
Jeongyeon’s face darkens, and Nayeon has only a second to celebrate her victory before a kick is aimed at her ribs. She dodges easily enough, putting a bit of extra strength in her block to knock Jeongyeon off balance. If her guess is correct, Jeongyeon is going to try and counter with a wide right hook, and if she does, Nayeon will follow the same path she did last time.  
  
Right hook. And history repeats itself.  
  
But this time, Jeongyeon’s leg hooks around her own, and Nayeon finds herself having to move avoid an uncontrolled landing. She shifts her weight as they fall, allowing her to land solidly on top of Jeongyeon as they hit the mat.  
  
She shifts quickly, pinning Jeongyeon’s arms to her sides with her knees. Her arm darts out, fingers wrapping around Jeongyeon’s throat. She doesn’t apply any pressure, but she knows they’re both aware of how easy it would be.  
  
Jeongyeon’s throat is warm to the touch, slightly damp from earlier exertion. Jeongyeon swallows, and Nayeon feels her fluttering pulse beneath her fingertips.  
  
“Yield.”  
  
“No,” Jeongyeon laughs. It vibrates through Nayeon’s palm, echoes skittering up her arm. Jeongyeon’s eyes meet hers, defiance clear on display.  
  
Nayeon takes a second, just a second, to marvel at the sight below her. Jeongyeon is, for all intents and purposes, down for the count, yet she looks up at Nayeon, eyes half hidden by her bangs, and refuses to relent. Her face is flushed with effort, chest heaving as she attempts to regain her breath. Yet she remains defiant. It’s stupid, and it’s the type of move that gets agents killed in the field. Nayeon knows this, but she still feels a minor amount of grudging respect for the woman she currently has pinned to the mat.  
  
It doesn’t change the fact that Jeongyeon doesn’t belong here, though.  
  
“Yield,” Nayeon insists, fingers flexing gently. Jeongyeon’s pulse jumps.  
  
“No.”  
  
“You don’t belong here,” Nayeon hisses, bringing her face closer to Jeongyeon’s. Their labored breathing fills the space between them, and Nayeon wishes Jeongyeon would stop being so goddamn stubborn. “You and I both know it. Yield.”  
  
Jeongyeon’s pulse quickens against Nayeon’s fingertips. Nayeon wonders what exactly it would take to wipe that determined look off of Jeongyeon’s face. “No.”  
  
Nayeon opens her mouth, but before she can speak, her world turns upside down. She feels Jeongyeon’s hips shift beneath her, bucking upwards, and the motion throws her forward and off balance. Jeongyeon’s arms move next, slipping out from underneath her knees to bat away the hand wrapped around her throat.  
  
And then Nayeon is underneath Jeongyeon, looking up into eyes that shine with victory.  
  
Nayeon doesn’t have time to question how exactly she ended up here, because Jeongyeon seems intent on pressing her advantage. A hand goes for her throat, and she pushes it away, trying her best to regain her bearings. Something close to fear rushes through Nayeon as she realizes that, for the first time, she isn’t in control.  
  
Jeongyeon’s other arm darts underneath her neck, reaching around to grip the wrist of the hand Nayeon had just raised. Jeongyeon’s free arm pushes into her neck, and Nayeon’s world spins again as Jeongyeon pushes her onto her side. There’s another brief scrabble as Nayeon operates on autopilot and tries to find a way out of Jeongyeon’s hold.  
  
She knows what Jeongyeon is trying to do, and she’ll be damned if she lets it happen.  
  
Her efforts remain fruitless, though. Nayeon’s surprised and on the defensive, and Jeongyeon retains control. Jeongyeon rolls backwards, Nayeon’s arm in her hands, and Nayeon has to grit her teeth to stop herself from yelling out as Jeongyeon begins to pull her arm towards her chest.  
  
A motherfucking arm bar.  
  
Her arm protests as Jeongyeon applies more pressure, and Nayeon can feel the tendons and muscle begin to strain.  
  
The sound of her hand slapping against the mat echoes throughout the gym. Jeongyeon releases her immediately, rolling away from Nayeon to rise into a standing position. Nayeon knows that she should follow suit, but her disbelief keeps her on the mat.  
  
She lost, and she lost even after having her hand around opponent’s throat. Victory was at her fingertips.  
  
Nayeon’s arm throbs painfully. “Match Jeongyeon.”  
  
//  
  
“Match Jeongyeon.”  
  
Jeongyeon grins, unable to hold back her pleasure at her win. She flexes her fingers, elation running through her. This was a far better present than anything she had been given for her birthday last month.  
  
Nayeon can fight very well, but Jeongyeon knows that even the most skilled fighters can fall to tricks. It was hard to telegraph her moves so blatantly, even harder to not snap at the smug look on Nayeon’s face, but her patience had been delightfully rewarded.  
  
Jeongyeon wishes that she had brought a camera with her. The look on Nayeon’s face as she had look up at Jeongyeon, was one of the most satisfying things Jeongyeon has ever seen. She continues to bask in her satisfaction as Nayeon remains unmoving on the mat. Jeongyeon had kept things somewhat gentle when grappling, so she knows that Nayeon wasn’t lying down because she was injured. No, Jeongyeon had a feeling that her beloved partner needed a few more seconds to recover from the damage to her ego.  
  
A few more seconds pass, ones in which Jeongyeon just watches. Several remarks dance along her tongue, each more biting than the last, but she refrains from letting any of them loose. She didn’t do what she did to make an enemy; she did it to prove a point.  
  
Nayeon moves, suddenly, rising to her feet in a way that’s almost carefree. Almost. Nayeon moves with a purpose, Jeongyeon notes. Each step, every twitch of her fingertips, it’s all done in a way that seems calculated. Jeongyeon recognizes the movements of someone who’s spent years trying to reshape their natural behaviors to what the Agency demands of them.  
  
“Are we going again?” Nayeon’s voice is icy, expression neutral. Jeongyeon can still see the flush in her cheeks.  
  
Jihyo shakes her head. “No. We’ve done enough in here today. Follow me.”  
  
Nayeon nods sharply and begins following Jihyo, not even glancing in Jeongyeon’s direction. She watches them leave for a moment and briefly considers that a more delicate approach would’ve been more suited for getting Nayeon to respect her. Nayeon has an ego large enough to make it an obvious target, and Jeongyeon needed to knock her down a few pegs. How were her and Nayeon ever going to work together if Nayeon was toting around a superiority complex the entire time?  
  
No, Jeongyeon decides. There really wasn’t a better way to go about things. You can’t make an omelette without breaking a few eggs, and Jeongyeon was determined to make this team the most effective omelette the world has ever seen.

She shakes her head, wincing. Not exactly her best metaphor.

  
Nayeon would get over it eventually, though. She had to, but it wouldn’t hurt to try and lighten the mood just a little bit.  
  
“Field trip,” Jeongyeon shouts, jogging to catch up with Nayeon and Jihyo.  
  
//  
  
Nayeon quickly realizes that Jihyo is leading them to The Library, and she quickly realizes that Jihyo is deliberately walking between them.  
  
Nayeon isn’t sure if she’s greatful or not. On one hand, it stopped her from “accidentally” tripping Jeongyeon. On the other, her pride is bruised, and any chance at avoiding Jeongyeon’s face was a welcome one. She could only imagine how condescending the smirk would be.  
  
Jeongyeon had been toying with her during their first spar, that much was clear. The way Jeongyeon had fought during their free spar was swift, controlled, and, most daming of all, instinctual. Every mistake Nayeon had picked apart with glee during their scored spare had only made her defeat that much more humiliating.  
  
She thinks of her words with disgust. What the hell was she? Some sort of pompous asshole? She could still feel it, the smoothness with which Jeongyeon had shifted her hips and thrown Nayeon off balance. It was a move that Nayeon should’ve been immune to at this point in her career. It was one of the first grappling moves they learned at the Agency. Nayeon had defended against it countless times.  
  
What had really enraged her, though, what had burned away the shame and left liquid rage coursing through her was the way Jeongyeon had looked down at her as she had her pinned to the mat. It was cocky, and it was a look that had said, “I knew we’d end up here.”  
  
It’s been years since someone’s gotten the best of Nayeon in a spar to the point that she was pinned, and the fact that the person to break that streak was Yoo Jeongyeon was something she may never forgive herself for.  
  
The sound of a door sliding shut snaps Nayeon out of her thoughts, and she looks up to see that Jihyo has led them to one of the Library’s private rooms. The room isn’t too big, has just enough space for a small table, a plant (a real spider plant, Nayeon notes, pleased), and a whiteboard. The table has lunch laid out on it, and Nayeon sends Jihyo a silent thanks. If not for the fact that she is fully aware of Jeongyeon’s presence, Nayeon would call this room cozy.  
  
“Nayeon,” Jihyo says, pointing to one of the chairs. “Sit here. Jeongyeon. Here.” Jihyo points at the chair opposite Nayeon’s assigned one. “Please help yourselves to lunch as we continue.  
  
Nayeon takes her seat, eyes trained on Jihyo as she stands next to the whiteboard. She absentmindedly reaches for some of the food on the table and tries to prepare herself for what comes next.  
  
“Now,” Jihyo says. “We’re going to talk about your powers. I know you’ve both read each other’s files, but I also know that they don’t cover the full scope of your abilities.” Jihyo picks up a marker and tosses it to Jeongyeon. “You’re first, Agent Yoo.”  
  
“Goodie,” Jeongyeon mutters, and it’s then that Nayeon looks at her for the first time since their spar had ended. Jeongyeon raises an eyebrow. “Any insults you wanna throw out before I start? Or should I just skip to me proving you wrong again?”  
  
The anger flares, and Nayeon’s imagination runs wild. She could so easily reach for the plant in the room before anyone could stop her. The leaves of the plant would surge towards Jeongyeon, arcing themselves around Jihyo on their way to their target. She’d take satisfaction in the way Jeongyeon’s eyes would widen. It’s easy enough to picture her stumbling back into the whiteboard, marker clattering to the floor.  
  
There mere idea is enough for her, and so, Nayeon smiles sweetly and bats her eyelashes at a now disturbed looking Jeongyeon. “Oh, I’d just love—”  
  
“Enough.” Jihyo cuts through Nayeon’s words, and she wisely decides to let them die. “You’re both adults. Elite and well-trained ones. Act like it.”  
  
Jeongyeon makes a noise of protest right as Nayeon mutters out a half-hearted apology.  
  
Jihyo just gestures to the whiteboard. “Yoo.”  
  
“Right.” The marker clicks as Jeongyeon uncaps it. “I have three powers: X-ray vision, time manipulation, and…” Jeongyeon’s voice trails off, and she turns to Jihyo. “What was the name we settled on? Is it sketching with a capital ‘S’? Dimension manipulation? ‘Etch-a-sketch but cooler’?”  
  
Nayeon tries to resist any positive feelings towards Jeongyeon, she really does, but the look of exasperation on Jihyo’s face makes it hard. As if aware of Nayeon’s sudden internal struggle, Jeongyeon’s lips lift into a crooked smile, triggering a small one from Jihyo. And Nayeon begrudgingly, painstakingly, as if climbing a mountain with nothing but a toothpick and a prayer, admits that her partner looks kind of cute in this moment. It’s a far cry from the Jeongyeon she’s used to seeing.  
  
It’s also the first time she’s seen Jeongyeon genuinely smile. She doesn’t really count those forced ones from their first meeting.  
  
“Sketch parenthesis dimension manipulation,” Jihyo answers with a sigh. “I know you know this.”  
  
“Never hurts to check,” Jeongyeon responds. “But yes, my powers.”  
  
Jeongyeon turns to fully face the whiteboard, and, for as long as it takes for Nayeon to get halfway through a bowl of bibimbap, the only sound in the room is that of Jeongyeon’s marker brushing over the whiteboard.  
  
When she steps back, it’s to reveal three drawings of a pair of slippers, each one slightly better than the one to its right. “It’s called dimension manipulation because I make 2D things 3D,” Jeongyeon explains with a small shrug, as if talking about the weather. She slides her pointer finger along the three drawings, and Nayeon watches as the lines seem to push themselves from the whiteboard, falling to the ground as fully formed slippers.  
  
Jeongyeon picks up a pair and tosses it to Nayeon. “As long as my drawing is somewhat close to what I want, it works. It’s more about intent. The bigger the object is, the bigger the energy drain. I can’t create food or water. Questions?”  
  
Nayeon blinks and looks down at the slippers in her hand. They feel incredibly soft, and her cursory glance reveals no glaring issues with the slippers. She notices that this pair is blue, while the others are a light green. “The color comes from intent as well?”  
  
Jeongyeon nods. “I just need the basic outline. I’ll move on to time manipulation if you don’t have anymore questions.”  
  
Nayeon gestures for her to continue, hand mindlessly fiddling with the slippers.  
  
“My second power is pretty explanatory. I can manipulate time within a bubble the size of my choosing. Time outside of the bubble proceeds as normal. Watch.” Jeongyeon bends down and picks one of the slippers up, tossing it into the air. Nayeon traces its path with her eyes, until its no longer falling, just floating in air.  
  
Nayeon moves to get a closer look. She blows out a puff of air, satisfied when it fails to ruffle the fuzz on the slippers. Jeongyeon chuckles from behind her. “As long I have the energy, I can freeze any molecules that enter into my time field. I could also freeze Jihyo, but she gets mad when I do that.”  
  
“Molecules,” Nayeon asks, turning to look at Jeongyeon. “Your power works on the molecular level?”  
  
“It does. That’s how the energy drain works as well. If something is moving quickly, it’s harder for me to stop. If it’s a shape I’m familiar with, I can stop it much faster and easier.”  
  
Nayeon’s mind whirs with the possibilities. It’s much harder to imagine missions going awry with a power like this, but it’s also a power that’s only useful if it can stop something larger than a slipper. “How big of a time field can you make?”  
  
Jeongyeon’s face slips into something just a bit more formal. “I can maintain a time field the size of a square mile for approximately 20 minutes and have some energy left over.”  
  
Nayeon’s jaw drops. “You _what_?” She sees Jihyo smile out of the corner of her eye. “Twenty minutes? And you can move around?”  
  
“Correct. I can also unfreeze specific people, but I need to know them well enough to be able to keep it up over a distance,” Jeongyeon says. She shrugs again. “It has a few drawbacks, but that’s the main part of it.”  
  
“Ah.” Nayeon swallows, trying her best to regain her composure. “I don’t have any more questions.” That’s a lie. She does in fact have questions, about a dozen more, but they can wait. It seems like Jeongyeon has the ability to bend the world to her will, and Nayeon can’t help but wonder about all the details that go into that.  
  
Jeongyeon shifts in place before speaking, eyes drifting to a spot over Nayeon’s shoulder. “My final power is my x-ray vision. It allows me to see through almost anything, with the level of depth up to me. Helpful for spying.”  
  
“You can fight with it as well, right,” Nayeon asks. Jeongyeon hadn’t had any kills listed in her file, but her skill had been labeled as lethal.  
  
“Yes.” Unease crawls up Nayeon’s spine at the way Jeongyeon delivers a single word. Something about her tone sounds hollow, empty. Her eyes remain unfocused.  
  
Jeongyeon continues speaking before she can even think to ask about it, but the continued emptiness in her voice only confirms that something is off. “X-ray vision. Capable of delivering 4500 rads at a glance. Average time to fatality is 15 seconds. Ability can also be used at lower levels to cause a longer term radiation sickness that will eliminate target in weeks or months as needed.”  
  
Jeongyeon’s tone remains level as she speaks, which only serves to make Nayeon even more unnerved. She tries to form words, formulate some sort of question, but the only thing flying around her brain is variations of ‘What’s wrong?’.  
  
“Nayeon,” Jihyo interjects, stepping in front of Jeongyeon. “Would you mind if we saved your power overview for another day? I was just notified that a meeting of mine got moved up, and I’d like to show you both the final session you’ll be regularly doing.”  
  
Nayeon just nods, eyes still locked on Jeongyeon’s. She all but wills the other woman to look at her, but she has no luck. She takes a step forward, and Jeongyeon’s eyes finally meet hers. There’s nothing in her gaze, no irritation, no playfulness, just a dull shine.  
  
Nayeon blinks and then Jeongyeon is grinning at her. “Impressed yet, Im?”  
  
The shift in Jeongyeon’s mood takes her by surprise, and she once again finds herself without words. Seemingly unbothered by this, Jeongyeon moves around her, picking up the slippers she had created. Jeongyeon grabs a bowl of something and then moves towards the door, leaving a very confused Nayeon in her wake.  
  
Nayeon tries to make sense of what just happened, tries to piece how things took a turn for the tense and weird so quickly, but she once again finds herself unable to come up with any sort of answer when it comes to Jeongyeon.  
  
//  
  
Jeongyeon tries to focus on where they’re going, vaguely aware of the fact that she’s never been down this hallway before, but all she can think about is how she nearly had a breakdown while describing her powers. It had been fine, at first. Seeing Nayeon’s expressions flip through various stages of surprise and awe was fun, and it had given Jeongyeon hope for their future working relationship.  
  
She knew that she strongly associated her x-ray vision with her time at the Agency as a kid, but as her tongue had formed the words that Glasses had repeated to her the last time she had been assessed, she felt herself growing more and more distant from her body. She knew she was speaking, knew she was telling Nayeon all about how she could kill people just by looking at them, but she felt as if she was not the one controlling her actions, instead a bystander to her own behavior.  
  
It wasn’t until her eyes had met Nayeon’s gaze, filled with apprehension and concern, that she had come back into herself. She had immediately thrown up a time field to give herself a minute. She hadn’t needed much time to fully snap herself out of it, but the mere fact that it had happened was embarrassing enough.  
  
She had worked through this already. It wasn’t supposed to bother her anymore.  
  
She looks up at the sound of Jihyo unlocking a door, pushing her current thoughts to the back of her mind. She also tries to ignore the glances Nayeon keeps sending her. She gets it. She had a minor freakout. She doesn’t need Nayeon to be reminding her of that by looking over at her every damn minute.  
  
Jeongyeon doesn’t enjoy showing weakness in front of others, fake weakness aside. She certainly doesn’t want to be displaying it in front of Nayeon.  
  
The room they step into has an atmosphere that immediately makes Jeongyeon tense. The lights are dim and accompanied by a low whirring noise that already has Jeongyeon wanting to flinch. In the center of the room are two chairs, and when Jeongyeon tries to scan her surroundings she finds that the walls are reinforced with lead.  
  
Anxiety pricks at her. She doesn’t like being in places where she can’t properly See. Her nerves kick her mouth into gear. “If your plan is to interrogate me by threatening to lock me in here with Nayeon, it’s working wonders. I’ll tell you whatever you need to know.”  
  
“Please shut up,” Nayeon says, voice lacking the expected bite. “I’d rather die than be stuck with you in a place for longer than three seconds.”  
  
“Once or twice a week, we’ll meet here for the final phase of your training,” Jihyo interjects, walking over to stand by the chairs. She makes no effort to acknowledge their exchange.  
  
Jeongyeon doesn’t move to follow her, but she does snap her mouth shut. There had been a subtle playful air to Jihyo earlier, but that seems to have vanished the moment they walked into this room. Nayeon does move closer, but she stops once she’s shoulder-to-shoulder with Jeongyeon.  
  
Jeongyeon’s first instinct is to chafe at the closeness, but, with the way this room makes her feel, she supposes it can’t hurt to be aware of where Nayeon is.  
  
“Part of the reason X is so good at evading capture is his interrogation techniques,” Jihyo continues. “He uses truth serum whenever he gets suspicious of someone.”  
  
Jeongyeon blinks and then blinks again. “That’s an Agency secret,” Jeongyeon says.  
  
Nayeon speaks at the same time. “That’s not a thing.”  
  
“Wait.” Nayeon turns to face her, eyes curious. “That’s a thing?”  
  
Jeongyeon nods, eyes darting between her and Jihyo, who has settled into one of the chairs and is watching them expectantly. “It was developed back in the 70’s. It’s used for interrogation of enemies or suspected traitors.”  
  
Nayeon’s brow furrows. “Oh. There’s a lot I still don’t know, isn’t there?” Her shoulders slump ever so slightly. There’s something strangely innocent about it, and she half expects Nayeon to begin pouting.  
  
Jeongyeon scoffs. “There always will be. The less you know, the more the Agency likes you.”  
  
Something indiscernible flashes across Nayeon’s face as she opens her mouth to respond. Whether it was a question or rebuttal, Jeongyeon will never know, because Jihyo choses that moment to speak up.  
  
“Agents know what they need to know, but the important thing is that there’s a risk this may be used on you.” Jihyo stands once more, pulling a small vial out of her pocket. “I want to regularly expose you both to it to develop an immunity. If you check the chair I was sitting on, you’ll see a list of questions for you two to ask each other. This door won’t open until you complete the list. Think of it as a team-building exercise. You two can learn to get along like mature adults.”  
  
“What do you mean the door won’t open,” Jeongyeon asks, voice tense. She glances over at Nayeon, whose shoulders are now stiff.  
  
“I mean that it won’t open,” Jihyo answers, smile sharp. She sets the vial down on the floor. “It won’t open until you take a sip of this and ask each other the questions on that paper.” She moves towards the door as she speaks. “Once you do that, the door will open and you’ll be free to leave.”  
  
“Hold on a damn second, Park,” Nayeon exclaims, moving to the door. “You can’t just—” Nayeon stops as the door slams shut behind Jihyo. The click of a lock echoes throughout the sparsely furnished room. She turns, disbelief on her face. “What the fuck was that?”  
  
Jeongyeon clears her throat, tries to begin getting a grasp on the situation. She can already feel a headache building. “I think,” she begins, “that was Jihyo telling us that she doesn’t like our attitude.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ha Ha Oh No. 2yeon trapped in a room with truth serum?? So Tragic. Sad. RIP.
> 
> \--
> 
> And more importantly, thank you all for waiting for this chapter to be uploaded. Words can't describe how much I appreciate your patience. I will continue to do my best in the future to keep my updates in the 2-3 week range. 
> 
> Catch me @2yeonaus if you're so inclined!


	5. The Training Montage (pt. 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The weeks fly by, some smoother than others.

Jeongyeon looks down at the vial on the floor. Her foot twitches. “Do you think Jihyo would just keep us trapped in here forever if a tragic accident happened and this thing broke?”

“I think,” Nayeon says, walking over, “that she absolutely would, but it might be worth testing it out.”

Jeongyeon bends down to grab the vial, running her thumb over the smooth glass surface as she stands up. She holds it up, noting the way the light cuts through the thin liquid. She turns the vial over, watches the speed at which it flows. It’s fascinating to watch, and she finds herself fiddling with it for longer than she probably should

“Excuse me,” Nayeon interjects. Jeongyeon lowers the vial with a sigh, meeting Nayeon’s impatient gaze. “Is what you’re doing supposed to be helpful, or are you just now learning what refraction is?”

Jeongyeon scowls. “I’m confirming that it’s actually truth serum and that Jihyo isn’t just fucking with us. Unfortunately for us, it is.”

“You really think Jihyo would lie about what this is?” Nayeon takes a step closer.

“Yes,” Jeongyeon answers. “She’s not exactly the most trustworthy person.”

Nayeon scoffs. “Sure. Whatever you say.”

“Glad you agree!” Jeongyeon shoots her a too wide smile and goes to move towards the chair Jihyo had been sitting on. She can see a piece of paper sitting on the chair, and Nayeon’s footsteps follow her as she walks to it.

Jeongyeon picks up the paper, relieved when she sees only three questions printed on it. Before she can read it, though, Nayeon speaks and pulls her attention away.

“Are we actually doing this, then?”

Jeongyeon can hear a surprising hesitance in Nayeon’s voice, but when she turns to meet her eyes, she’s met with a neutral expression. Jeongyeon scoffs. “We don’t really have a choice, do we? We’re stuck in this goddamn room with each other until we ask these questions.” She tries to speak in a way that doesn’t match the uneven rhythm pounding away in her chest. She doesn’t want this; she absolutely under no circumstances wants this.

But she knows Jihyo.

And she knows that the only way out is through. Jihyo wants them to get along, or at the least, wants them to be able to tolerate each other. Jeongyeon thinks this is absolutely isn’t the way to do this, but she’s stuck in this room regardless.

“Perfect,” Nayeon huffs. “Let me just casually and completely open myself up to questioning.”

Jeongyeon tries to tamp down the irritation that flares in her chest, but one look at the scowl on Nayeon’s face makes the task almost impossible. “Please. You think there’s a single thing I want to know about you? I lament the fact that I even know your name.”

Nayeon lets out a disbelieving laugh, eyes widening. “How do you think I feel? This is the kind of mission I’ve been waiting for. I work my ass off for _years_ only to get stuck on a team with someone who can’t even—”

Nayeon’s sentence stops, but Jeongyeon knows exactly where she was headed. She lets the silence simmer between them for a few seconds, tries to take satisfaction from the knowledge that, a few hours ago, Nayeon would’ve just charged ahead with her accusation.

“Say it.” Jeongyeon’s lips curl into a smirk. “Go ahead. Tell me how you really feel.”

She expects Nayeon to do it, honestly, to press forward and call Jeongyeon’s win a fluke or to bite out a remark about her scuffed shoes. But instead, Nayeon takes a deep breath.

The look in Nayeon’s eyes dims, loses some raw irritation. “You,” Nayeon begins, eyes not quite meeting Jeongyeon’s, “aren’t useless. Far from it, as I’m quickly learning. I apologize for my words to you earlier.” Nayeon speaks as if each syllable is a knife to the gut, and it’s that which tells Jeongyeon that she’s sincere.

Jeongyeon doesn’t even try to smother her surprise. She’s halfway to opening her mouth and telling Nayeon that it’s about time when Nayeon speaks again.

“However”—Nayeon crosses her arms, jaw clenching—“what I don’t apologize for is disliking you. You came in here, no experience and no shred of respect, yet spouting out bullshit about ‘being a team’.”

Nayeon steps closer, putting them an arm’s width away. All Jeongyeon can do is watch, eyes wide. Her heart leaps again. “We’ve known each other for what? Three days? Yet you scoff every time I speak, and act like an ass every other second of the day. So tell me, Agent Yoo, what the fuck will it take to get that stick out of your ass?”

Jeongyeon has never really enjoyed confrontation. Instructors at The Agency hadn’t really yelled, and when they did, it was best to just nod and try to move along. After she left, she kept her head down, only really pushing herself forward when she needed to. She’d step in on a friend’s behalf, sure, but when it was just her, she preferred more indirect methods. Kicking someone’s ass in a sparring match, for example.

She could make an exception for Im Nayeon, though.

“You think I have the bad attitude,” Jeongyeon asks, incredulous. “The very first time we met, you tried to invade my privacy—”

“Oh please,” Nayeon scoffs.

“—and then got pissy because I wasn’t okay with that. You know that’s not normal, right?” Jeongyeon is gesturing with her hands, movements erratic. “And then you decide to get all high and fucking mighty on me. So professional, Agent Im. Your precious ego got bruised, and you couldn’t handle it.”

Nayeon stares at her, jaw tense. Jeongyeon waits. Her voice bounces around the room. Her heart races, fights with the echoes to be the loudest sound in the silence.

Nayeon’s gaze doesn’t falter, and, for just a moment, Jeongyeon wonders if she accidentally froze time. Nayeon’s throat bobs. Jeongyeon tries to read her stare, but she comes up empty.

“So how does the truth serum work?”

Jeongyeon blinks. “Excuse me?”

“The truth serum,” Nayeon says, closing the distance between them to point at the vial in Jeongyeon’s hand. “How does it work? How much do we take?”

“It—” Jeongyeon falters. Anger still floods her brain, and she finds herself unable to keep up with Nayeon’s tonal swings. “What?”

A strained smile appears on Nayeon’s lips. “We’re professionals, aren’t we? Yet we’re here about to tear each other’s throats out. We can not like each other, but we still need to be efficient.”

“I don’t—” Jeongyeon shakes her head. “What?”

~~

The look on Jeongyeon’s face is both deeply irritating and highly amusing. Irritating because it’s Jeongyeon and also deeply amusing because it’s Jeongyeon.

She can’t blame her, really, for looking so confused. Nayeon is sure she, like Nayeon, still has anger swirling through her veins. It was all too easy to fall into snapping at Jeongyeon, and, even now, scathing words and rebuttals pile up in Nayeon’s mouth, more than ready to be let loose.

She had enjoyed it, the sharpness on her tongue. She liked the feeling of freedom that had bloomed in her chest when she had volleyed her words at Jeongyeon, completely unfiltered.

The Agency is structure and order and following Protocol 10 while doing the paperwork for Procedures 12 through 14. By and large, Nayeon gets along just fine with everyone at the Agency. She has her friends, and any mission partners are handled with firm detachment.

Jeongyeon is different, though. Jeongyeon isn’t her friend, and, unlike other people Nayeon has worked with, she doesn’t seem to give a shit about what the Agency expects of them. If not for the fact that she’s still flush with anger, Nayeon would almost call it refreshing, but it grates at her all the same. Jeongyeon is competent, at least, and that is enough for Nayeon to press her feelings down for now.

“We could fight,” Nayeon says, “or we could answer these questions and leave. You said it yourself: we’re stuck here.”

Nayeon watches Jeongyeon center herself, recognizes the ease with which she slips into neutrality. It’s comforting, the way she sees echoes of Agency training in Jeongyeon’s movements. It’s a reminder that, for all of her bluster, Jeongyeon is of the same stock she is.

“Point made.” Jeongyeon holds out the vial. “It lasts for thirty minutes. Once you drink it, you’ll be automatically compelled to answer any question you’re asked with complete honesty.”

Nayeon tamps down her discomfort, but either she’s getting rusty or Jeongyeon feels the same way and is inspired to speak. “We’ll stick to the questions.”

“We stick to the questions,” Nayeon agrees. “Word for word.”

Jeongyeon’s eyes meet hers. “You’ll stay away from my past?”

“As long as you stay away from mine.”

A challenge, ever so brief, flares in Jeongyeon’s eyes, but it lasts only long enough for Nayeon to feel the barest whisper of anticipation. Jeongyeon nods. “Agreed.”

Nayeon reaches for the vial and steels herself. She just has to treat this like another mission. She’ll stick to the questions on the list, and that will be that.

She expects the vial to be room temperature, but the glass presses coldness to her fingertips. She rolls it over, takes in the liquid that apparently has the power to make her spill all of her secrets. She thinks about the potential it contains.

As tempting as it is, she knows that she won’t ask directly about Jeongyeon’s past. It would be satisfying in the moment; she knows that. She also knows that it would likely be a step too far. She may not like Jeongyeon, may chafe at the tone she takes when speaking to herself or to Jihyo, but she doesn’t want to make their relationship irreparable. If she was only working with Jeongyeon for a week, she’d do it without hesitation. Two years is a long time, though, and there’s too much at stake for Nayeon to be careless.

She lifts the vial to her lips and takes a small sip. It’s a strange sensation. She both feels it and doesn’t, the liquid running down her throat close to weightless.

She holds the vial out to Jeongyeon, mentally scanning herself for anything that feels off, feels like it won’t heed her wishes. She comes up blank. She feels the same. There’s threads of anxiety she could pull at, emotions she could bring to the forefront of her mind, but this isn’t the time.

Jeongyeon downs the vial in one go, and Nayeon watches and wonders what exactly it is she’s so desperate to hide. There’s some sort of history with Jihyo, clearly, something that made it so that it’s Jeongyeon that Nayeon stands across. But the explanation for that could be anything.

Maybe Jeongyeon is a scientist’s daughter, had spent some years skulking around the labs, irritating Jihyo with her obvious dislike of authority. Maybe they knew each other from a mission, had crossed paths while Jihyo was in disguise. Or maybe they had run into each other in a coffee shop, and Jeongyeon had spilled her coffee on Jihyo before she had a chance to stop it with her time powers.

Nayeon doesn’t know where Jihyo fits into Jeongyeon’s life or vice versa, but she can begrudgingly admit that Jeongyeon is far more interesting than her backstory would imply. How many secrets could the captain of the debate team have, after all?

Jeongyeon looks down at the paper in her hand, takes in the questions.

Jeongyeon is like a puzzle with 90% of its pieces, Nayeon muses. Finished enough to see the picture, but missing some of the finer details. She’s never really had the patience for puzzles, but she’d apparently have plenty of time to figure Jeongyeon out. Though, if Jihyo’s questions open up doors for Nayeon to potentially fill in those gaps, she won’t complain.

“I can go first,” Jeongyeon says. “If you disagree with that, let me know. Otherwise, nod.”

Nayeon raises an eyebrow at the command. “Why do I have to nod?”

Jeongyeon’s eyes widen and then quickly relax as her mouth begins to move. “Any question asked triggers an automatic response. I wanted to avoid either of us being influenced by truth serum as much as I could.” Her tone is far too flat, and it reminds Nayeon of the Jeongyeon who had spoken of her X-ray vision. “It also generally lowers inhibitions and calms you, so we’re both less likely to think critically before acting or speaking. It’s similar to being mildly tipsy, but you’re much less aware of it.”

Nayeon fights back another wave of discomfort. The last thing she needs is to be less in control of her emotions around someone she can’t seem to help but argue with. A beat passes, and suddenly Nayeon realizes what she just did. “Sorry, Agent Yoo.” Mild embarrassment curls around the back of her neck. “That slipped out.”

Jeongyeon waves the apology away. “It’s okay. It can be hard not to ask questions, and that one was harmless.” She rubs at her jaw. “I forgot how much it hurts to have your mouth yank itself open.”

“Have you—” Nayeon stops short at the warning glare Jeongyeon shoots her. “Never mind.”

Not asking questions is much harder than she thought it would be. Her question is a simple one: ‘Have you taken this before?’. It’s simple, and yet it flies in the face of what they agreed to. She does her best to push the urge from her mind and reaches to take the paper in Jeongyeon’s hand. There are three questions on the paper:

_1\. What is your favorite flavor of toothpaste?_

_2\. What is 1,345x9,340?_

_3\. What is your favorite power of yours?_

Sans the slightly horrifying math, these questions seem outright boring, and Nayeon runs her eyes over the questions one more time to make sure she’s not missing any obvious pitfalls.

“Why is there a math question on here?” She winces as the words leave her lips. Another question. She should be better than this.

The flat voice returns. “To show the comparison between facts and personal truths, most likely. If you didn’t know what 7x8 was, you couldn’t tell someone that it’s 56.”

Nayeon nods, tries to move past her mistake. “Great, makes sense. I’ll ask a question, and then you to ask the same one.” She keeps her tone firm, avoids leaving room for accidental questions. She has no idea how sensitive the serum is.

“Sure thing,” Jeongyeon says. There’s still no irritation in her voice, and Nayeon begins to think they can make it through this in one piece after all.

“What’s your favorite flavor of toothpaste?”

It’s offputting, seeing Jeongyeon’s face go completely blank again, and it’s even more unsettling when it comes as a result of a question about toothpaste. “Spearmint.”

Nayeon has no time to even think about that answer before the question is being turned back on her. “What’s your favorite flavor of toothpaste?”

The sensation that follows the end of Jeongyeon’s question is almost impossible to describe. She’s fully prepared to answer the question, but even so, it feels like her mouth is being guided open. It’s as if her mind if running on its own track without any of her help. “Cinnamon.” She feels nothing as she speaks.

Jeongyeon lets out a small laugh. “Figures.”

“The hell does that—no, wait.” Nayeon pulls up short. “Not this time.” She tries to ignore Jeongyeon’s smirk and focuses on not asking yet another unsanctioned question. “Question two. What is 1,345 times 9,340.”

The look on Jeongyeon’s face falls as the serum takes over. “I don’t know. I’d need more time to figure it out.” Her face comes alive again, acknowledges Nayeon with a raised eyebrow. “If you’re just going to say the same thing, feel free to just ask the third question. The point is an easy one to make.”

Some part of her knows that Jeongyeon’s almost-friendly demeanor is likely a result of the serum’s effects, just like she knows the smile on her own face is not one she would normally be wearing in this situation. Jeongyeon looks thoroughly nonthreatening, her slouch complimented by the lazy tilt to her lips. It’s all too easy for Nayeon to let the last remnants of her anger slip through her fingers.

“Your favorite power?”

“Sketch.” Jeongyeon shrugs, speaks again with a light tone. “It’s fun to pull shit out of nowhere.”

It’s unsurprising, and Nayeon waits to hear the question directed at her. They’re so close to being done.

“What’s your favorite power?”

This answer is as easy as the first. “Nature manipulation.” She ignores the disquieting feeling of losing control and raises an eyebrow at the shocked look on Jeongyeon’s face. The question slips from her lips before she can think better of it. “What? I like plants.”

Jeongyeon’s face doesn’t go blank, but it’s clear that her next words come without thought. “How the hell is the power you like the most not the one you were so excited to steal from me with?”

The anxiety that had been dancing around the edges of Nayeon’s mind finally punches through as Jeongyeon begins to protest, sitting up straight in her chair. “Wait! No—”

The twisting in her gut disappears as her mouth opens. “Basically everyone who knows about my power hates it, just like you do. They don’t like it when I touch them, even with the gloves, even if I’m not doing it to see their future.” She’s hollow, and the truth fills the empty spaces, spills from her lips. “I hate it too, sometimes.”

Right after she finishes speaking, there is a moment, painfully quick, in which she both has control of herself again and feels nothing. But then shame and embarrassment flood in, and Nayeon leaps to her feet. “We’re done, right?” Her voice is harsh even to her own ears, cuts through the calm haze that had somehow settled over them.

Flat. “Yes, technically.” Urgent. “Agent Im, wait. I didn’t—”

She hates the way Jeongyeon is looking at her, and it’s all Nayeon can do not to lash out. “Stop,” Nayeon interrupts. She doesn’t want apologies, and she sure as shit doesn’t want the pity painted across Jeongyeon’s face. “Lowered inhibitions. I get it. Can we just get out of this fucking room?”

“No. The door is locked still.” Jeongyeon remains seated, but everything about her screams ‘alert’. Her hands are raised in front of her, palms open, as if Nayeon is some wild animal she’s trying to approach.

Nayeon tries to remain calm, tries to trick herself into believing that everything is fine, but all she can think about is the fact that Jeongyeon knows something about her that she had never wanted to share with anyone. They were her feelings to have, and they had been forcefully pushed into the open, exposed under the harsh and humming light of the fluorescent bulbs.

“I’m sorry.” Jeongyeon’s voice breaks the tense silence. “I didn’t mean to ask a question.” Regretful.

“Oh, well, if you didn’t mean it, then it’s clearly fine, right?” Tense, hurt.

“No. It’s not.” Hollow.

The door clicks, and Nayeon immediately begins walking towards it, not giving Jeongyeon a chance to respond. Jihyo’s smiling face greets her on the other side of the door, and Nayeon feels another stab of anger.

“Well done,” Jihyo says, giving her a sharp nod.

“Thank you,” Nayeon bites out. She can’t quite bring herself to meet Jihyo’s eyes.

Jihyo raises an eyebrow. “I won’t ask, for several reasons, but I hope this was a good example of just how powerful the serum can be.”

Nayeon laughs, rough and low. “Yeah, I get it.” She hears footsteps behind her. “Are we done for the day? I’m meeting—” Her jaw seizes, refuses to let her finish her attempt at a lie.

Jihyo picks up the conversation, undeterred. “We’ll meet tomorrow at the same time.” Jihyo steps to the side and inclines her head to the hallway. “The night is yours.”

Nayeon knows that she would normally make a joke or say something about tomorrow, but all she can do is nod and begin walking down the hallway.

~~

Jeongyeon tries her best to stem the tide of guilt rising in her chest, but she knows that the truth serum is going to make that all the harder. This is Nayeon, she reminds herself. This is the person that abuses her powers and judges in the blink of an eye.

It’s Nayeon, and she really shouldn’t let it bother her. It was a genuine mistake.

“I see you two made it through that in one piece.”

Jeongyeon pulls her eyes away from a retreating Nayeon and focuses on Jihyo. There’s a teasing smile on her lips, and it grates at Jeongyeon. “Did you really think that was a good idea?”

“It’s necessary,” Jihyo says, leaning against the door frame. “You and Nayeon need to learn to work together, and you’ll eventually be at risk of having truth serum used against you.”

“But did you really need to throw us into that so quickly? Without supervision?” Logically, she knows it’s not Jihyo’s fault any more than it is hers, but irritation still slips into her words.

“Did something—” Jihyo shakes her head, restarts her sentence to avoid a question. “There was an issue.”

There’s a furrow to Jihyo’s brow now, one that looks sincere. Jeongyeon’s eyes dart back down the hallway, and she considers how much she should share. She decides to keep it simple. They’ve already breached enough privacy today. “I think she could use a friend. A question got out of hand.”

“She looked a bit off, but I just assumed she was stressed from being in a room with you.”

The blunt assessment makes Jeongyeon laugh. “No. Being in a room with me wasn’t the big issue.” Jeongyeon thinks back to the way she had seen Jihyo and Nayeon interact in the hallway yesterday. “You should stop by her place tonight, though. Check in.”

“I have back-to-back meetings after this, but I’ll do my best to check in on her.” Jeongyeon believes her. A sudden and painful yearning for what they used to be shoots up from Jeongyeon’s stomach to fill her chest, and she mentally curses the truth serum for making her vulnerable.

Jihyo continues to look at her, question in her eyes. “Jeongyeon.”

Jeongyeon shakes her head, waves Jihyo’s gaze away. “I’ll be fine. Agent Im was the one most affected. I should probably just take a shower and then head to bed. I’m wiped from drills earlier.”

Jihyo nods, and Jeongyeon is grateful for her dedication to detached professionalism. “The evening is yours, Agent Yoo.” Jihyo pauses, a look of uncertainty flashing across her features. “I also wanted to let you know that Tzuyu sent me a text this afternoon asking about us.”

Jeongyeon’s fingers twitch. “Us?”

“Specifically about the question she asked.”

“The one you refused to let me answer?”

Jihyo’s lips pull into a half-smile, tense. “I was saving you the trouble of having to lie to Tzuyu to avoid questions. I suppose it would’ve just been easier to let you talk.”

“You don’t know what I would’ve said.”

Jihyo clasps her hands together in front of her, exhales. “Of course I do. We’re not friends, Jeongyeon. You and I both know that. We’re not who we used to be.”

Jeongyeon does know that, but she feels the familiar ache of resignation in her chest. It’s one thing to know something; it’s another to have it said aloud.

She turns her head, wary of being exposed by the truth serum. She reaches for neutral words, sifts through phases and sentences that will get her out of here without another slip-up. She comes up short. “This will be our 43rd mission together.”

Jihyo blinks. “What?”

“Our 43rd mission,” Jeongyeon answers. “We were supposed to be at 800 by now.”

Jihyo stares at her, and for a moment, one stomach twisting moment, Jeongyeon thinks she won’t get a reply. But then Jihyo’s lips pull into a pained smile. “Yeah, we were.”

Jeongyeon waits for something she can’t name and that she knows will never come. She wishes she could read regret in the twitch of Jihyo’s lips, or see any of the heavy yearning in her chest reflected in the way Jihyo folds her fingers together, but she can’t. Jihyo just looks at her, eyes unreadable.

Jeongyeon looks back.

(Jeongyeon ratchets up the strength of her vision, taps out the number of guards with her finger. Jihyo nods, slides closer along the rafters of the roof.

“You know,” she whispers, smiling when Jeongyeon glares at her for talking, “this is our 40th mission together.”

Jeongyeon looks into her eyes, waits until she feels the familiar sensation in her mind, and thinks, _It’ll be our last if you don’t stop talking._

Jihyo chuckles. Jeongyeon (quietly) slaps her shoulder, hisses out “_What_ is with you today?”

“I’m just happy.” Jihyo smiles again, slow and wide, and, despite the fact that they’re only 100-feet from the leader of a stolen technologies smuggling ring, Jeongyeon feels a burst of affection towards her.

“In 10 or 15 years,” Jihyo continues, eyes bright, “We’ll be on mission 800 or something.”

Jeongyeon knows that, when trainers or directors or even other Triunes look at Jihyo, they see a rapidly rising star, but she’s always just seen Jihyo. She’s extremely talented and impressive, yes. But Jeongyeon knows her favorite books, the way she wears her scarves, the fact that she inexplicably likes strawberry jam on her grilled cheese. Jihyo is Jihyo is Jihyo.

She reaches out, playfully tugs at Jihyo’s ponytail. “No way. Mission 1000, at least.”

Jihyo’s smile widens, but whatever response she was going to give is cut off by the sound of shouts below them. Her face immediately shutters, rearranges itself until Jeongyeon is looking at a complete stranger. A distant feeling of loss trickles down into her stomach, but she pushes it away. They have a mission to complete.)

Jeongyeon clears her throat. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Jihyo nods.

Jeongyeon walks away, reminds herself: they aren’t who they used to be.

//

She blindly reaches out to run her fingers over the petal of the lily, smiles at the feelings. It’s like silk, smooth and cool to the touch. She sifts her fingers through the petals, pleased at the thrum of life beneath her fingertips. It speaks of potential, and she’s the one in control of it.

Nayeon opens her eyes and takes in her creations scattered about her living room table. The are six lilies in total: two pink, three white, and one yellow. Not for the first time, she entertains the idea of running away from the Agency to become a florist.

She could settle down almost anywhere, immediately become a standout due to her unique talents. She’d have to play it safe, of course. The Agency wouldn’t just let her go without a fight.

But still. It could be fun.

She coaxes growth from the wisteria vine wrapped around her wrist, watches the purple flowers dance aimlessly in the space above her. The petals rustle as they brush against each other, and it fills Nayeon with a yearning she can’t quite pin down. Her mind whirs, flips through old memories in search of a matching sound. It’s not the breeze in the trees on a family camping trip, nor is it the sound of Momo racing by her. It might not be any specific thing, but it’s enough to pull her mind away from the troubles of the present.

A knock rouses her from her meditative stupor. It comes again, and Nayeon pulls herself up to move towards the door before she can think better of it. She hesitates with her hand hovering over the knob, suddenly unsure if she wants company or not.

“Nayeon.” The voice is muffled by the door, but Nayeon would know Jihyo’s concerned tone anywhere. “I know you’re right there. I can see your shadow.” Nayeon looks down at the floor and mutters out a soft curse when she sees her shadow stretching underneath the doorframe. “I just want to make sure you’re okay. You looked shaken after training.”

Distantly, Nayeon knows that what Jihyo is doing is kind and considerate, but she can’t find it in herself to really care. She had finally gotten herself to a state where her feelings were a dull throb she could pretend she was successfully ignoring. If she acknowledged that Jihyo had a reason to be here, she’d be acknowledging those feelings again, and she didn’t want to do that tonight.

“I’m okay, Jihyo. You don’t have to check on me.”

“Of course I have to.” Jihyo’s voice softens, barely makes it through the door. “We’re friends, Nayeon.”

Nayeon looks down at the hand still hovering over the doorknob. If she let Jihyo in, she’d have to put her gloves on. “I’m fine, really. Thank you, though.” There’s no response, but she knows Jihyo is still on the other side of the door. She’s never been the type to give up easily. “Jihyo, really. I’m okay. I just need tonight to decompress.” She hears a shuffling sound from the other side of the door, can almost imagine Jihyo scuffing her shoe against the welcome mat as she contemplates whether or not she should let it go.

“Fine,” Jihyo relents. “But you know you can always talk to me if you want or need to, right?” There’s an almost pleading tone to her words, and Nayeon ever so briefly considers just opening the door.

“I know. Don’t worry.”

“Okay, good. Sleep well, Nayeon.”

“You too, Jihyo.”

//

The rest of the week passes not in a blur, but in a painfully clear moment-by-moment play that Jeongyeon is unwillingly a part of. Nayeon shows up the next morning, eyes cold and closed off, and Jihyo runs them through drills without a word. They don’t speak of the truth serum.

They spar and run and climb, and there is no mention of Nayeon explaining her powers as Jeongyeon did. Jeongyeon is thankful for it, and, by the way she sees Nayeon’s shoulders drop at the end of each day when Jihyo sends them home, she knows that Nayeon is as well. But they don’t speak of that, either.

The strategy sessions are one-sided. Jihyo reviews basic Agency formations, shares the modifications that she herself prefers. It’s during those two hours that Jeongyeon truly tunes out. There’s nothing here she hasn’t heard before. There’s only so many ways two people can infiltrate a building.

Nayeon remains perfectly professional for the rest of the week. She rises to none of Jeongyeon’s throwaway comments and only speaks to her when absolutely necessary. It makes it harder for Jeongyeon to move the guilt that’s taken up residence in her chest.

By the end of the week, she admits to herself that it might be possible that Nayeon is simply a more professional and detached agent. It doesn’t stop Jeongyeon from trying to get back the Nayeon she first met, though. That Nayeon was fun, had a spark of life to her. This Nayeon is too stiff yet too pliant, perfectly adapted to leave no ripples in her wake.

Jeongyeon hates it.

//

** _Dahyun_ **   
_[6:03 PM] what’s cookin’, good lookin’?_

** _Jeongyeon_ **   
_[6:07 PM] just chillin’ in an ice bath because my trainer kicked my ass. The usual._

** _Dahyun_ **   
_[6:08PM] I see your pun and I see you and it’s glorious. sorry about your ass, though. _   
_[6:08PM] I have a question for you, actually. _   
_[6:10PM] do you think you could be blanked by the wrong person?_

** _Jeongyeon_ **   
_[6:11 PM] ?? The person who blanks you is always the person who blanks you? You didn’t suddenly become unblanked, did you?!_

** _Dahyun_ **   
_[6:11PM] no, no. I mean in the soulmate way._   
_[6:12PM] do you think that maybe the person who blanked you might not be the person you’re meant for?_

** _Jeongyeon_ **   
_[6:12 PM] I mean, yeah. Anything is possible. Soulmates aren’t perfect or whatever. _   
_[6:15 PM] Isn’t today your anniversary?_   
_[6:17 PM] Dahyun._   
_[6:22 PM] You better answer, or I’m going to freeze time to come steal your rare book collection._

_ **[6:22 PM] Call Incoming: Dahyun** _

** _Jeongyeon_ **   
_[9:34 PM] it’ll all be okay, dubs. I promise. _

  
_Week 2_

The click of the marker cap echoes around the room as Nayeon steps back from the whiteboard. She mentally braces herself and then turns around to begin speaking. “The first power I received was my flight. It has a minimal drain on my energy reserves, and I can reach comfortably reach speeds of around 300 miles per minute.”

Jeongyeon raises an eyebrow.

“My maximum recorded speed was 800 miles a minute, but that basically knocked me out.”

Jeongyeon’s other eyebrow joins her first. Nayeon fights to maintain a neutral expression. She’s trying to keep things purely professional, and smirking smugly is not purely professional.

“The outfits I wear on missions are all custom made to reduce drag and prevent my clothes from catching on fire or anything like that. Questions?”

Jeongyeon shakes her head. “No, but that’s really, really impressive.”

“Thank you.” Nayeon clears her throat. “My second power was my nature manipulation. In essence, as long as there’s some sort of plant life around, even something as small as a seed, I can manifest virtually any plant and control it. I just need there to be water around. The humidity in the air suffices.”

“Wait,” Jeongyeon says, sitting up straight in her chair. “Any plant? Even poisonous ones?”

Pride pushes a smile onto her face. “From lily of the valley to foxgloves, I can do it all. I’m pretty good with poisons.”

Jeongyeon grins, eyes lighting up. “I could very easily freeze everyone but you in a room and let you spike their drinks. Could make getting through a base or lab much easier.”

A not unfamiliar excitement prickles across her skin. “It would. Do you think—”

“Ladies,” Jihyo interrupts, clearly amused. “We’ll have time for this at later strategy session. Can you continue with your power briefing, Nayeon?”

“Hold on,” Jeongyeon protests. “Things were finally getting interesting!”

“You can get back to it next week when we go more in depth on how your powers can work together.” Jihyo says. “For now, Nayeon should finish describing her powers.”

Jeongyeon relents with a sigh, sinking back into her chair. “Fair enough. I’m ready for power three.”

They lock eyes briefly before Nayeon starts speaking, and it’s enough for her to confirm that Jeongyeon isn’t about to make a scene out of Nayeon's upcoming description. She doesn’t think she could handle that, really.

She had spent the last week and a half doing her best to pretend that it had never happened. Even just a glimpse of Jeongyeon had been enough to send embarrassment, cold and biting, through her chest. Even worse, it made her think about the very thing she had admitted to. She’s had years to make peace with the fact that her power isolates her; she’s in no need of reminders.

“My third power is my future sight. It’s pretty straightforward. If I touch someone with my bare hands, even with just a fingertip, I gain the ability to look through the next twenty-four hours of their life, starting at the time of contact. I can go as fast or as slow as I like through their future stream, but I can’t skip it. It always takes at least thirty seconds.”

Jeongyeon shifts in place. “Can you see when this is happening? Or do you just end up blind?”

“I’m not helpless.” Nayeon shakes her head, well aware of how stiff her voice sounds. “It’s like my mind is focusing on two things at once. I can still process flashes while present in the real world, but I can’t give my full attention to both. The more familiar I am with using my future sight on someone, the easier it is for me to skip to the end of their memories or just ignore what I’m seeing.”

Jeongyeon looks at her for a moment, long and searching. Nayeon keeps her gaze steady. “That’s… useful, especially in hand-to-hand combat. Do your visions always come true? What’s the accuracy rate?”

Nayeon’s eyes drift to the ceiling as she thinks back over various times she’s tried to avoid the future she had seen. “It depends. If it’s something that’s mostly in my control, it’s pretty avoidable. However, there’s plenty of things that I could have no hope of influencing, but even those things sometimes change. It loses efficacy if I tell someone what their future is going to be. They always end up doing something that changes it.” She raises one of her hands to rub at her shoulder, which still smarts from their earlier sparring matches. Jeongyeon’s eyes track the motion, and Nayeon resists the urge to snap at her.

Jihyo clears her throat. Nayeon looks over, and is given a pleased nod. Jihyo moves to the whiteboard and Nayeon takes a seat, happy when she notices that Jeongyeon’s gaze is no longer on her.

“Thank you, Nayeon. As I’ve said, we’ll go more in depth with both of your powers and how they can be applied during this time next week.” Jihyo takes a moment to just look at both of them. “I want to let both of you know ahead of time that you’ll begin using your powers on each other next week. Understood?”

Jeongyeon stiffens. “You mean my time manipulation and her future sight?”

Nayeon closes her eyes. She already knows where this is going. She can’t really find it in herself to hold it against Jeongyeon in this instance.

“Yes,” Jihyo answers. “You need to become familiar with what it feels like to control whether or not you freeze Agent Im.”

“Great. So it sounds like there’s no need for her to use her power on me.”

“It’s important to—”

“She’s right, Jihyo.” The words fall easily from her lips. “I won’t really need to use my powers on Agent Yoo. Standard protocol is to not base multi-person mission plans on them.” There’s silence for a moment, and Nayeon can all too easily imagine the look of surprise on Jihyo and Jeongyeon’s faces.

“For once, we see eye-to-eye.” Jeongyeon scoffs, and Nayeon feels a flare of irritation she can’t tamp down.

“I have no desire to know what your future is like, Agent Yoo. I can barely stand you in the present.” Jeongyeon whips her head around, and Nayeon raises an eyebrow at the shocked expression. Her lips curl, but instead of a snarl, there’s what Nayeon would normally call a smile on Jeongyeon’s lips. Except. Jeongyeon absolutely should not be smiling at her right now. It’s disquieting.

Jeongyeon’s mouth opens, but before she can respond, Jihyo interrupts by telling them that they need to wrap up so she can make a meeting. She’s able to avoid looking at Jeongyeon for the rest of Jihyo’s wrap-up, and, by the time they’re finally done, Jeongyeon no longer seems interested in talking to her.

She finds it equal parts reassuring and aggravating.

//

It’s when Jeongyeon’s back hits the ground for the third time that morning that she considers that she may have made a mistake by making Nayeon break her professionalism yesterday. She attempts to roll back on to her feet, but Nayeon is quick to straddle her and pin her to the ground. Jeongyeon slaps away punches and tries to figure out how she’s going to get out of this.

Nayeon catches Jeongyeon’s arm, pushes it up and into her throat in an effort to choke her. “Tell me,” Nayeon breathes. “Is this the only position you actually know how to fight from?” Jeongyeon scowls, fruitlessly pushes back against Nayeon’s grip on her arm. She has the advantage of high ground, and Jeongyeon knows she can’t win an outright strength contest.

She hadn’t really expected her quip about Nayeon’s power to go anywhere. She had expected the same reaction her comments had been getting for the last week and a half: stony silence. Instead, Nayeon had fired back, voice back to biting. It had been thrilling. Though, as Nayeon continues to taunt her and the edges of her vision get fuzzy, she wonders if maybe she should've stuck with formal Nayeon.

She spots a potential opening, and, with the last of her energy, swings her right leg up to try and lock it around Nayeon’s arm to throw her off balance. It works, somehow, and she follows the motion until she has Nayeon caught in an arm bar. She tenses, waits for the sound of Nayeon’s palm hitting the mat. She manages to speak through labored breathing, well aware of Nayeon straining beneath her grip. “You’re only supposed to gloat if you—”

Nayeon wrenches herself sideways, twisting so that Jeongyeon is unable to maintain her leverage. She surges upwards, knocking Jeongyeon off-balance just long enough to slip behind her and get control of her arms. Nayeon tightens her grip, presses on the back of Jeongyeon’s neck, and Jeongyeon knows that she’s truly down for the count this time.

“You know,” Nayeon begins, “you’re going to have to verbally say you yield now.” The smugness in Nayeon’s voice cuts through her heavy breathing, and it’s almost annoying enough to tempt Jeongyeon into refusing to yield. Her body is already sore enough, though. They’ve been doing free sparring for the last hour, and while she’s had her share of wins, she’s had her share of knocks as well. The huff Nayeon lets out warms the back of Jeongyeon’s neck. “Why are you so goddamn stubborn?” She presses harder, tilts her elbows so that the pain shooting down Jeongyeon’s arms gets that much harder to ignore.

Still, Jeongyeon manages to let out a laugh. The motion ups the pain in her arms to ‘Absolutely Not Okay’. “I’m not. You’re just fun to piss off. I yield.”

Nayeon releases her with a noise that sounds like disgust, but she reaches to help Jeongyeon up all the same. They stand there for a moment, eyes locked and breathing in tandem.

Nayeon breaks the silence. “Well played, Agent Yoo. You seem to have a talent for arm bars.”

Jeongyeon smiles at the genuine compliment. “Thank you. You’re pretty quick on the mat. I can see why you go for the leg sweep nine times out of ten.”

Nayeon’s grip on her hand tightens ever so briefly, but it loosens as Nayeon speaks, smirking. “Yet even knowing that you somehow always end up on the ground.”

The sound of Jihyo clearing her throat next to them pulls them out of their conversation. “Hit the showers, and then we’ll move onto your second round of truth serum training.”

Nayeon pulls her hand away, flexes her fingers. Jeongyeon nods, salutes. “Aye, aye, captain.”

Their walk to the locker room is done in silence, and Jeongyeon only breaks it right before they go their separate ways to shower. She clears her throat, doing her best to sound light as Nayeon looks at her with curious eyes. “I really am sorry for what happened last week, Agent Im. It won’t happen again.”

Nayeon huffs out a laugh. “It probably will, honestly.” She crosses her arms. “You said it yourself. The serum loosens inhibitions. One of us is going to falter again eventually.”

Jeongyeon inclines her head in agreement. “That’s true, but I’m sorry all the same.”

“It’s okay.” Nayeon’s words are sincere, and they wash away the final remnants of guilt lingering in Jeongyeon’s chest. “The look of pure horror on your face told me that you didn’t mean it. It’s just more motivation to learn how to beat the stuff, I suppose.”

“Good point.”

They linger there for a moment longer before Nayeon nods and moves to wash up. Jeongyeon follows suit and heads to her own shower, wondering if taking a shower in just about freezing water will be enough to stave off the patchwork of bruises she can already feel forming on her body.

//

The door closes. A lock clicks into place.

“Here.”

“Still truth serum?”

“Still truth serum.”

The paper rustles in Jeongyeon’s hands, and Nayeon is thankful for the fact that the truth serum dulls her nerves.

“I’ll start. What is your favorite pizza topping?”

“Pineapple. What’s your favorite pizza topping?”

“Just cheese. I like my pizza plain.”

Fitting, Nayeon thinks, eyes skimming over Jeongyeon’s outfit: a white t-shirt and black track pants. The Agency issued training outfit had only shown up that one day, and it had only taken two more days of regular clothes for Nayeon to realize that the Agency outfit had just been part of Jeongyeon’s efforts to humble her.

“Are you left-handed or right-handed?”

“Right-handed. Are you left-handed or right-handed?”

“I’m ambidextrous.”

Nayeon doesn’t want to admit it aloud, but she knows that Jeongyeon’s gambit had the intended affect. She’s been paying closer since Jeongyeon first beat her, has watched every movement Jeongyeon makes with a critical eye, and it’s for that reason that Jeongyeon’s ambidextrous abilities don’t come as a surprise. She wants to know just how much Jeongyeon can do with both hands, and whether or not she has different skills and capabilities with each. But she resists. Barely.

“What was your favorite subject in school?”

“Intro to Behavioral Psychology.” Jeongyeon raises an eyebrow, and Nayeon answers of her own conviction. “I liked teasing out why people do what they do. What was your favorite subject?”

“11th grade western literature.” Nayeon raises an eyebrow this time, gestures for Jeongyeon to continue if she wishes. She hadn’t been expecting that answer. “We studied Shakespeare. I wrote an essay comparing the tragedy of Romeo and Juliet to the ‘real-life value we place on the farce that is soulmates’.” Jeongyeon chuckles. “I was a very bitter 11th grader.”

Nayeon fights the urge to ask if Jeongyeon still feels the same way about soulmates, but her curiosity must show too plainly on her face. “Ask me about it when we’re not under truth serum,” Jeongyeon suggests. “Prepare yourself for a rant.”

Nayeon just nods. She’s not too sure what else she could say to that.

The door clicks open, and Jeongyeon is striding over to it before Nayeon has finished fully registering the fact that they’ve made it through their second day of truth serum “practice” without incident. She moves out the door and down the hall, brushing by Jihyo without so much as a word.

Nayeon doesn’t miss the way Jihyo’s eyes follow Jeongyeon down the hall, nor does she miss the way Jihyo’s shoulders drop once Jeongyeon fully disappears from view. “You’ll have to tell me the full story, one day.”

Jihyo looks at her, eyebrows raised. “What story?”

“The story of why you look at Jeongyeon like she’s some ex-lover who left you and took the house, the dog, and the car.”

Jihyo stiffens for just a moment, but then she laughs. “This isn’t a country song, Nayeon. Jeongyeon and I just don’t always see eye to eye.”

“Duh. You’re way shorter than her.” Nayeon winces. That was supposed to be a mental quip. Jihyo shoots her a baleful look, and Nayeon scrambles for a defense. “The truth serum let me say it, so I’m just telling the truth.”

“I hate that I can’t argue with you,” Jihyo sighs. “Anyway, I have a meeting that takes me in the direction of your apartment if you want company for half of your walk.”

Nayeon smiles, extends her arm so that Jihyo can slip hers through it with a roll of her eyes. “Sounds good to me.”

  
_Week 3_

“So,” Jihyo begins, leaning against the empty whiteboard, “part of the reason you two were paired together was because the board believed that you two have compatible skill sets. Can either of you think of any examples of this?

Nayeon loves and respects Jihyo; she really does, but she struggles not to roll her eyes. _What is this? Elementary school_?

She had thought about how they might work together several times over the last couple weeks, and, with powers like theirs, the possibilities were plentiful. It was only a matter of whether or not they could actually get something to work in the field.

“Do I get a sticker if I get enough right answers?” Jeongyeon’s voice is teasing but not harsh, and Nayeon watches Jihyo roll her lips together to fight off a smile. Nayeon feels a now familiar prick of curiosity. Just yesterday, Jeongyeon and Jihyo had a three minute staredown that came from Jihyo telling Jeongyeon that her form needed work.

“No, Jeongyeon. No stickers.”

Jeongyeon slouches down into her seat. “Boring. But fine.” She straightens up. “We already talked about how my powers can give Agent Im time to spike drinks to incapacitate our opposition. In addition, I might be able to control the flow of time around her plants. I can also make a humidifier or condenser to provide her with a water source. My X-ray vision can allow me to see into rooms and pick out plant life inside of them. I can guide Agent Im through deploying her powers from a distance, assuming she can sense the plants in the room.” Jeongyeon’s eyes flit to the ceiling. “I think those are the big ones.” She smiles. “Agent Im can also pick me up and carry me over enemy bases, and I can drop bricks on their heads.”

For several seconds, all Nayeon can do is blink at Jeongyeon. She’s never heard Jeongyeon sound so serious before. On one of these blinks she catches sight of the smug smirk that Jihyo is directing at her. She suddenly realizes that she never went back to challenge Jihyo on Jeongyeon’s inclusion in the team. The promised week had come and gone, and Nayeon had forgotten all about it.

“I don’t know why you’re so surprised,” Jeongyeon eventually says, small smile on her lips. “I’m meant to be the planner on this team. It’s one of my roles.”

“What are you talking about?” Nayeon’s curiosity pulls her focus back. “We weren’t assigned roles.”

“I believe Agent Yoo is talking about the classified documents that she inevitably pulled from the server.” Jihyo’s voice is dry and unsurprised. “You were each given assigned roles.”

“I only pulled down my file to be clear,” Jeongyeon says, shrugging at Nayeon. “I left your stuff alone.”

“The roles were only proposed,” Jihyo says. “The actual roles you two will serve in relation to each other will be decided by me a couple weeks before you deploy for your first mission. We need to do proper evaluations.” She sends a pointed glare in Jeongyeon’s direction. “It is not a competition of any sort. You’ll be assigned where you fit best.”

Nayeon tries not to laugh at the face Jeongyeon makes in response. It’s not quite a pout, but it’s certainly something approaching it.

“Regardless,” Jihyo continues, clapping her hands together with a smile. “It’s time for you two to actively start working together. Jeongyeon, freeze everything but yourself and Nayeon, please.”

Jeongyeon turns to look at her, eyebrow raised. “You ready?”

Nayeon can’t help but ask the question buzzing on her lips. “Will this hurt?

To her credit, Jeongyeon only laughs a little. “No. It happens like this.” Jeongyeon snaps her fingers. “You’re not really moving, so it’s not hard. Also, I’ve frozen you before, so there’s nothing to worry about.”

Nayeon blinks. “I had forgotten about you stealing my chair, actually.” When she thinks of it, the annoyance that had run through her is all but impossible to recall. With hindsight, it really just seems par for the course, especially now that Nayeon knows how sensitive Jeongyeon is about her personal information.

“Ah,” Jeongyeon sighs, “the good old days.”

“You want to go back to that?”

“I miss the burning hatred in your eyes. It fueled me.” Jeongyeon smiles, wide and faux-innocent. Nayeon fights down the sudden urge to make the aloe plant between them smack Jeongyeon on the forehead.

“I never hated you,” Nayeon admits. It wasn’t the point of what Jeongyeon said, but it’s something she wants clarified nonetheless. “I just thought you were a talentless hack who had no respect for authority and who would torpedo this mission.”

“And now?”

Nayeon shrugs. “The same.” She looks down at her nails, needlessly buffs them against her shirt. “Stopping time can only be so impressive.”

Jeongyeon quirks an eyebrow. “Call me talentless again.”

“Gladly. You’re talentless.”

“You’ve been in a time bubble this whole time,” Jeongyeon says, smirking. She gestures behind Nayeon. “Look.”

Nayeon scoffs, turning. “Yeah, okay sure…” Her words trail off as she catches sight of a frozen Jihyo. She jumps to her feet, walks closer to confirm that she’s not just being pranked. “When the hell did you do this?”

“When I snapped.” Jeongyeon comes to a stop next to her. “It’s a shame. Sometimes I manage to catch Jihyo making a funny face, but this is pretty boring.” Jihyo’s lips are closed in a neutral position, eyes caught partway through a blink.

Nayeon leans closer, not fully able to accept that she currently exists out of time. “This is very strange. Time is really frozen for Jihyo?”

“Yup.” Jeongyeon bobs her head. “When I drop the field, it’ll be like I had just finished snapping for her.”

Nayeon walks over to the window and peers through the blinds, flinching in surprise when she sees people moving about in the Library. She looks back at Jeongyeon, question in her eyes. “I only froze this room,” Jeongyeon answers. “I didn’t know how long we’d be in here, and I don’t want to mess up anyone’s schedules or anything.”

Nayeon nods. That makes sense. This all feels very strange, but it makes sense. She turns and looks at Jihyo once more, acknowledges the fact that Jihyo is defenseless in this moment. She swallows. “This power is kind of terrifying. You can just do whatever you want.” Jeongyeon looks at her, doesn’t say a word. “How would someone even resist that?”

“What,” Jeongyeon asks dryly, “trying to take me out already, Agent Im?” She continues when Nayeon shoots her a small glare. “It’s not easy, truthfully. If you can sense that I’m about to use my power and stop me in that split second, you could defend against it. Power suppressants could also work. People with superspeed are basically impossible for me to stop for longer than three seconds, so there’s a few ways.” Jeongyeon shrugs.

“Good to know,” Nayeon says. _You could do anything_, she doesn’t say. She runs her eyes over Jeongyeon with a new perspective, wonders exactly why someone with this ability works in the lab. The pieces don’t fit together.

“We’re also aging,” Jeongyeon adds. “There’s another fun fact for you.”

“Aging,” Nayeon asks.

Jeongyeon nods. “Relative to whoever is frozen, anyway. So, I suppose it’s better to say that Jihyo is not aging despite technically being older than she was a minute ago.”

Nayeon takes a moment to mull this over before speaking, tries to remember what she can from her required science courses back in college. “Because her cells have stopped dividing, right?” She scoffs at Jeongyeon’s look of surprise. “It’s basic biology, not rocket science, Agent Yoo.”

“Fair enough, but yeah, pretty much. Do you want me to explain the rest while we’re frozen, or do you want me to drop the bubble?”

“Drop it,” Nayeon answers without hesitation. “I keep catching Jihyo in statue form out of the corner of my eye. Not a fan.”

“You got it.”

The rest of the afternoon passes smoothly, unfolds in plans and discussions on the nuances of their powers. Nayeon takes pride in the look of awe that comes over Jeongyeon’s face when Jihyo shows videos of Nayeon in action. Yes, Jeongyeon can stop time and bend the world to her whim, but Nayeon can raise and lower forests at will, prick someone’s ankle with a thorn coated in deadly poison with a twitch of her finger.

Jihyo releases them for the day, and, for the first time in almost a week, Jeongyeon doesn’t bolt right after they’re done. She doesn’t linger, either, but she takes enough time that they end up walking back to their apartments together. They wind through the beige colored walls of the Agency, stumbling somewhat awkwardly through conversation that’s not born of their mission assignment. It’s not smooth, but it’s not terrible, either. Nayeon’s had far worse.

They get to Nayeon’s apartment first, and Jeongyeon says goodbye with a stiff wave that Nayeon would find endearing on anyone else. “Hey wait,” she calls, curiosity getting the best of her. Jeongyeon stops, turns around with a raised eyebrow. “What apartment are you in?”

Jeongyeon smiles, a small, teasing thing. She looks far more relaxed then she did a few minutes ago. “I don’t know if I trust you with that information, Agent Im.”

Nayeon crosses her arms with a huff. “Please. I’m just curious. For all I know, you live in some top secret room accessible only by retinal scan.”

“I currently live in 210,” Jeongyeon answers, chuckling, “but I’ll have to ask Jihyo about getting an upgrade.”

“When you do, can you also ask her to fix my sink? It’s leaky.”

“Definitely.” Jeongyeon pauses for a second, and Nayeon can almost see the awkwardness settle around her. “Have a good night, Agent Im.”

“Thanks. See you tomorrow, Agent Yoo. Sleep well.”

//

She takes a deep breath before rounding the corner. Her Sight isn’t working, but it’s fine. It’s fine. The knife in her hand is getting harder to hold on to as her palms grow slick with sweat. She tells herself that she isn’t nervous, but her body betrays her. She wonders when she picked up a knife in the first place.

She steps forward and the floor disappears. She steps into nothing, her stomach twisting in on itself as she falls through darkness. Voices rush in, hissing things at her in a language she can’t understand.

Panic, hot and jagged, crashes through her, and she fights to gather her thoughts. She keeps falling, and the voices keep whispering.

It is with the utmost certainty that she knows she’s going to die.

Time bends in on itself, addles her mind. She has no idea how long she falls for, but the panic does not recede. It claws at her throat, demanding and heavy, until she has no choice but to let it out by screaming until her throat is raw. It’s when she tastes copper on her tongue that she finally finds herself on solid ground.

Glasses stands before her, Jihyo right by his side, smiling. There are others in front of her, all around her, but their faces are impossible to focus on. She tries to identify them, but it just causes a wave of nausea to rise in her stomach.

Glasses—No. Moustache extends a bloody knife towards her, smile warped and grotesque. “Jeongyeon,” he begins, voice cloying, “we’ve been waiting for you.”

The voices rush in once more, desperate to be heard, but she drowns them out with her screams. They start attacking at her, raining blows on her face, sometimes scratching, sometimes hitting her with something soft and fuzzy. It’s disorienting.

Suddenly the faceless people are gone, and it’s just her and Jihyo. Jihyo smiles, taps the blade against her skin once, twice, three times.

The knife pierces her back, and she jolts—

—upwards into wakefulness, faintly aware of her hand knocking into something and the sound of shattering glass that follows. A weight leaves her chest.

Lego meows from somewhere in the room.

Jeongyeon tries to breathe, tries to tell herself the it was all just a dream. She lists off the things she can feel in an effort to ground herself, well aware that she’s careening towards a full blown panic attack. “Comforter, sheets, shirt, pants, pill— fuck!” She shudders, screws her eyes tighter shut in an effort to block out the images swarming her mind. “Fuck fuck fuck.”

She braces herself, tries to take deep breaths, but the blurry faces draw closer with every exhale.

Lego meows again, and this time, it’s accompanied by the feeling of claws digging into her thigh. Jeongyeon flinches away in response, allowing just enough space for Lego to leap into her lap. Jeongyeon’s fingers slip into her fur automatically, and it’s not long before brings her other hand up to join the first. Lego doesn’t move a muscle, just starts purring, low and steady. The vibrations reverberate out and into her chest, a welcome change from the jackhammering of her heart.

She’s drenched in sweat, limbs still shaking, and she’s almost positive that the earlier crash was the sound of her knocking over the glass of water she always brought to bed with her. She’ll have to deal with that eventually, but for now, she sits and tries to steady her breathing.

“Sorry, bud,” she murmurs, gently rubbing one of Lego’s ears between her thumb and forefinger, “that’s the third night in a row you’ve had to deal with this.” Lego continues to purr, and Jeongyeon feels a swell of gratitude towards her late-night companion.

Eventually, Jeongyeon is able to bring herself to open her eyes, still fully unable to shake the fear that she’ll see a bloodied figure in the corner of her room. Instead, she’s greeted by the moonlight that floods in through her blinds. It’s bright and welcoming, and, on mostly steady legs, she walks herself and Lego over to the window. She looks over the buildings that were the backdrop to her childhood and lets the familiarity comfort her. This isn’t her favorite place in the world, but it’s better than her dreamscape.

The windowpane is cool against her forehead, and Jeongyeon watches her exhales slowly fog up the window. There’s a stillness to the night, no signs of life visible outside of her window, and she tries to match it’s serenity.

Lego squirms in her grasp and leaps onto the window sill.

Jeongyeon looks over her shoulder, can’t even summon the energy to be saddened by the fact that her alarm clock reads 2:03 am. “I can totally do fine on three hours of sleep, right?”

Lego, true to form, stretches out and settles down on the window sill with a yawn. She curls in on herself, tail flicking gently against the window. Jeongyeon takes a moment to enjoy the way the moonlight drapes itself over her tri-color fur.

It’s not quite the same as being able to get an uninterrupted night of sleep, but it’s peaceful, so she’ll take it.

_Week 4_

Nayeon looks at the clock on the wall of the gym and sighs heavily when she sees that it’s 10:32. “How can someone who can freeze time be late? I don’t understand.”

Jihyo shakes her head, checks her phone again to no avail. She leans back, head resting on the stack of still-folded sparring mats. “I don’t know. Jeongyeon has never been one to be late to training.” Jihyo continues at Nayeon’s look of disbelief. “I mean it! She doesn’t randomly skip, or, well, she hasn’t.”

“Do you think I damaged her ego too hard yesterday by flipping her over my back?” Nayeon recalls the event with no small amount of satisfaction, but she deflates at Jihyo’s scoff.

“Jeongyeon won three of the four matches yesterday,” Jihyo says.

Nayeon grumbles. “It was a really good flip.”

Jihyo rolls her eyes fondly and says nothing more than a “We’ll give her thirty more minutes and then start.”, letting them fall into companionable silence.

By the time the clock hits 11, Jihyo is visibly concerned. Nayeon speaks before she can think twice. “I can go knock on her door,” Nayeon offers. Despite what Jihyo believes, Nayeon would be surprised if Jeongyeon hadn’t just decided that today wasn’t going to be a training day. Jeongyeon has no respect for Agency decorum in any other area. Why would this be different?

Jihyo perks up, visibly pleased by the idea, and that’s how Nayeon finds herself knocking on Jeongyeon’s door for the fifth time.

“Yoo Jeongyeon!” Nayeon presses her ear against the door, but she hears nothing. She slumps forward, head gently knocking into the door. She could just go back to the gym and tell Jihyo that they’d have to do solo training today, or—she closes her eyes and seeks out the familiar green warmth—she could use one of the three plants near Jeongyeon’s door to let herself in.

She would be doing this blind, but it’s nothing she hasn’t done before. She spares a brief thought to how Jeongyeon might react to this before reaching out to the closest plant. She’s not snooping; she’s just trying to be helpful.

(If she ends up learning more about Jeongyeon in the process, well, that’s just the way the metaphorical cookie crumbles.)

She’s pleasantly surprised when she realizes that her chosen organic lockpick is a piece of Spanish moss. If she had to guess what plants (if any) Jeongyeon would have in her apartment, she definitely would’ve guessed a spider plant, maybe a gardenia if she was feeling daring.

The Spanish moss heeds her easily, and Nayeon blindly glides it to the door. It catches on something, just for a moment, but Nayeon is able to have it move around whatever the obstacle is. In the back of her mind, she faintly registers a ringing sound, but she won’t let herself be distracted from her mission. The plant comes closer, getting stuck and strangely knocked back by something one or two more times, but eventually it slips beneath the doorway.

Nayeon bends down, gently runs a finger over the slightly rough leaves. “Thanks buddy,” she murmurs. She knows, emotionally, mentally, logically, that plants don’t speak and that they take no notice of when Nayeon speaks to them. But they bend to her whim so easily. The least she can do is send some grateful carbon dioxide in their direction.

The plant jerks backwards without her telling it to, and Nayeon furrows her brow in surprise. She pulls back on the plant, even more confused when something seems to be pulling at it. The amount that she can sense through the plants is limited but it feels…playful, almost.

She knocks again. “I swear, if you’re just fucking with me!”

Silence. The Spanish moss moves again. Nayeon, curiosity now burgeoned by a sense of urgency, sends the Spanish moss climbing up the door until she feels resistance that she can only assume comes from the lock. She twists and curls the plant until she hears the click of a lock. She pushes on the door, and, suddenly, she’s in Jeongyeon’s apartment.

She does a quick scan of the room, relaxing slightly when she doesn’t see Jeongyeon standing right in front of her, taunting her. She absentmindedly sends the Spanish moss back to its normal spot, and it’s then that she feels something brush against her leg and hears the tinkling of bells. Her gaze shoots down just in time to see a white, orange, and black blur chase the moss back where it came from. Once the moss returns to immobility, the blur changes directions and comes for her.

If anyone were to ask, Nayeon would say that, no, she did not scream when Jeongyeon’s cat leapt at her legs. She would say that she let out a dignified squeak, never truly breaking her calm under pressure. As it is, the cat just looks at her, claws ever so gently poking through the fabric of her pants to prick at her skin. The cat meows at her, and all Nayeon can do is stare.

Since when does the Agency allow pets? She’s tried many, many times over the years to convince Jihyo to let her get a dog, but all of her efforts fell flat when Jihyo pointed to the Agency policy and also reminded her of how often she was away. Were the rules different for scientists?

She reaches down to pet the cat, but it darts out from under her touch and heads towards the kitchen, collar jingling all the while. Nayeon realizes, as she absentmindedly follows the cat, that it doesn’t really matter what the Agency rules are. Jeongyeon will do what she wants regardless, and Jihyo, for reasons still unclear to Nayeon, will let her.

She looks around as she walks, tries to find the small details scattered throughout the apartment that would make it undeniably Jeongyeon’s. There isn’t much, at first glance. She spots some decent quality cookware sitting in a drying rack by the sink, but there aren’t any pictures, no magazines scattered about the place. Nayeon drags her fingertip across the laminate countertop and looks out into the living room, hoping to see something more definite.

A pair of sneakers she recognizes sit at the foot of the couch, accompanied by a quilt neatly folded and laid across the leather cushions, but those are the only things that stand out. There’s a TV and some chairs and overall it looks like every other apartment in the Agency before someone moves in. Something a little too sharp to be disappointment but a little too muted to be sadness creeps into her chest, carves out a space for itself.

The sound of something sliding across the floor draws her attention, and she looks down the see the cat batting an empty bowl back and forth. The cat walks over to one of the cabinets and meows loudly. Nayeon gets the message loud and clear. “I can’t feed you,” she says, squatting down to extend an open palm towards the cat. “Your kind can’t be trusted when it comes to food. Jeongyeon might’ve already fed you this morning.” The cat, blissfully unaware of its honor being questioned, sniffs Nayeon’s palm and pushes into it.

She’s not sure how long she stays there, running her fingers through calico fur and cooing at Jeongyeon’s extremely friendly cat, but it’s long enough that, when she does suddenly remember why she’s here, she shoots upwards with no small amount of embarrassment burning her cheeks. She shakes her head and makes her way further into Jeongyeon’s apartment.

“Agent Yoo,” she calls, coming to a stop in front of a closed door. “Agent Yoo?” The bathroom door stands open behind her, so she knows that the door before her must lead to Jeongyeon’s room. She knocks, but once again, is met with silence.

She pushes the door open, and is immediately hit with a wave of annoyance. There, curled up under her covers without a care in the world, is Jeongyeon. She very briefly considers just turning around and telling Jihyo that Jeongyeon can’t make it, but the memory of Jihyo’s concerned face pushes her forward.

“Yoo,” she barks out, reaching down to shake Jeongyeon awake, “get the hell—”

Nayeon has none of her defenses up, and her world rolls itself over in a rustle of sheets and flash of a blade. One of her arms is pinned down by Jeongyeon’s knee, the other caught in an iron grip, pressing her deeper into the mattress. A knife rests at her throat, and it presses just enough to draw blood. Jeongyeon sits above her, eyes wild and looking down at her with an expression that sends ice down her spine.

For the first time, Jeongyeon looks truly dangerous. Nayeon casts her senses around the room, finds a fig leaf tree in the corner and relaxes. She has options.

“Agent Yoo.” Nayeon swallows, tries again. “Jeongyeon, it’s just me,” Nayeon says, doing her best to minimize the movements of her throat against the blade. Jeongyeon says nothing, just continues to look at her, face frozen in a snarl.

She should’ve known better, truthfully. No Triune worth their salt sleeps without a weapon within arm’s reach, and part of their training involved learning how to go from a dead sleep to combat in the blink of an eye. Triunes were trained by the rule of the hair-trigger. Jeongyeon fell asleep alone; she expected to wake up the same way. She should’ve woken Jeongyeon up from a distance.

Nayeon tries to calm her heart, takes as deep a breath as she can with the knife held to her throat. She tries calling Jeongyeon’s name again. Jeongyeon’s eyes finally clear, focus on her properly. “Nayeon?” Her voice is scratchy, slightly raw. “What are you doing here?”

The grip on Nayeon’s wrist doesn’t lessen, even as she flexes her fingers to try and restore blood flow. “The one and only,” Nayeon says. “You’re late.” The transformation is immediate, and Nayeon can’t help but huff out a laugh at how quickly the knife disappears from her throat, how Jeongyeon immediately shifts to free Nayeon’s limbs. Jeongyeon’s hands go to Nayeon’s throat, and she can’t help but hiss as Jeongyeon’s thumb brushes over the cut on her neck.

“I’m sorry,” Jeongyeon breathes out, body shifting above Nayeon as she moves closer to examine the wound. Her touch is soft, almost light enough to tickle. “It’s surface level, but it’s going to sting. You could probably have a medic heal it right up.”

Nayeon waves Jeongyeon’s hands away. “It’s fine, really. I should’ve been more careful. I can get it looked at after training today.”

Jeongyeon hums in agreement, sliding off of Nayeon to take a seat on her bed. She blinks once, twice, and it’s then that Nayeon realizes how tired she looks. “So why exactly the fuck are you in my bedroom?” Jeongyeon runs her hands over her face with a muffled chuckle. “I thought I was being attacked.”

“Sorry about that last part,” Nayeon says, rolling off of the bed and onto her feet. She points at the clock on Jeongyeon’s bedside table. “Like I said. We’re late.”

Jeongyeon crosses her arms. “Did you break into my apartment?”

“Break is such a strong word. I eased my way in.”

“If you broke something out there…”

“Relax,” Nayeon says, moving towards the door. “Everything is as it should be. Though I do have a question about how you got a cat.” She turns around just in time to catch Jeongyeon’s tired grin.

“It’s pretty easy, actually. Jihyo is a sucker for cats.” Jeongyeon stands, stretches. “Listen, thank you for waking me up, even if I’m not the biggest fan of you breaking—”

“Easing.”

“—_breaking_ into my room. Tell Jihyo that I’ll be ready in fifteen.”

“And when she asks why you were late?” Nayeon raises an eyebrow. “Did you party too hard last night or something? It’s a Thursday.”

A wry smile slides onto Jeongyeon’s face. “I slept through my alarm clock. Just tell her that I didn’t sleep well. She’ll understand.”

Nayeon studies her, notes the heavy set of her shoulders and the way her eyes flutter shut every few seconds. She wonders just how long Jeongyeon’s been not sleeping well. The way she moves now, slow and sluggish, indicates a persistent problem, yet Nayeon hasn’t noticed any changes during drills or sparring. It’s almost enough to make her feel bad about the whole “breaking into Jeongyeon’s apartment and scaring her awake” thing. Almost.

“If you say so. Also, you have a very impatient cat in your kitchen.”

“Shit.”

//

“Explain to me again how this is supposed to work.”

“Once you become aware of the sensation, it’s a matter of pushing back against the initial impulse,” Jihyo explains, walking around to the other side of the table. Jeongyeon makes eye contact with Nayeon, pleased when she sees the same confusion she feels mirrored in Nayeon’s eyes. “You’ve both answered questions under the influence of the serum, enough that you know how it feels. This time, when you’re asked a question, try to find something to push back against. In addition, you do build up a slight resistance to it over time.”

“But how?” Nayeon shifts in her seat. “Every time we’ve done this, everything just flows out of my mouth.”

“It’s not easy. I won’t lie and say it is, and by the time you two deploy, you still might be susceptible to it. The only way to figure it out is try. Jeongyeon, please ask Nayeon a question.”

Jeongyeon exchanges yet another glance with Nayeon. “What question? Do you have a list?”

“No,” Jihyo answers. “You’re both professionals. I trust that you can appropriately handle yourselves without me explaining to you what questions do and don’t cross a line. Do either of you feel like that’s going to be an issue?”

Jeongyeon knows how she feels, at this point. They’ve made it through three weeks of having to be honest with each other while in this room, and the only problems have been those born of genuine mistakes. They’re both equally vulnerable.

“No.”

“No.”

“Okay, then. Jeongyeon, just keep going until I say stop or until Nayeon manages to resist.”

Jeongyeon exhales. “Gotcha. Nayeon, what’s your favorite flavor of toothpaste?”

Nayeon’s disbelieving laugh gets choked off as the serum kicks in, and Jeongyeon hears the word “cinnamon” with the same expressionless tone she did last time.

Ten questions later, and the results are no different. She now knows almost a dozen more useless facts about Nayeon than she did five minutes ago. Jihyo steps in, tries to guide Nayeon through the process, but five additional questions later, and Jeongyeon finds herself staring at a frustrated woman that she now knows once ate a piece of paper for a dare.

They switch roles, and history repeats itself. Jeongyeon finds no way to stop the words leaving her mouth. There’s nothing to hold on to, no split second where she can even try to fight against the pull. At least until Nayeon, sounding extremely bored, asks her eighth question:

“How old were you when you had your first kiss?”

The question in and of itself is harmless, fully in line with everything else they’ve asked of each other, but fear seizes Jeongyeon. It’s automatic at this point, to react to anything related to her past with Jihyo with outright resistance. For just a few seconds, she's able to fight against the pull of her jaw. It feels like she's mentally digging her heels in, pulling at a force that suddenly seems less intangible than it was a minute ago. She feels the first part of the word leave her mouth and tamps it down, resulting in an unintelligible grunt that causes both Nayeon and Jihyo's eyes to widen.

The serum wins out in the end, though, and the word "eight" leaves her mouth. Silence greets her answer.

"What just happened?" Nayeon's lips pull down into a frown. "Was that too personal?"

"I instinctively tried to resist because it was a question I didn't want to answer, but no, it wasn't too personal. It was harmless." These words leave her lips without thought. There's no chance for her to resist. "I also think I figured out what we're doing wrong." Jihyo gestures for her to continue. "The questions we've been asking are too easy. If I asked Nayeon the same question I accidentally asked her the first time, she'd probably have a decent shot at somewhat resisting it." She licks her lips, flits her eyes to the ceiling for a moment. "We need to be desperate, ask harder questions."

Nayeon sighs, slumps back against her chair. "I was afraid you would say that."

Jihyo runs her fingers through her hair. "I was trying to do this with both of you using simple questions, but if the emotional motivation is what you need, then I suppose we do need to go harder."

A groan this time. "I was even more afraid that you would agree with her."

_Week 5_

“Match, Jeongyeon.”

Jeongyeon stands up with a sigh, reaching down to help Nayeon up. “Your collar is all…” She gestures at her own neck, nodding when Nayeon straightens out her shirt. It’ll immediately get messed up the moment they started sparring again, but Jeongyeon knows that Nayeon likes to start her fights looking put together.

Jeongyeon turns to Jihyo, voice taking on a pleading note. “Can we please use our powers? I understand the value of non-powered sparring, but if I have to fight Nayeon again, I think I’ll go insane.”

“I agree,” Nayeon chimes in, rolling out her neck. “I know that Jeongyeon usually leads with a right punch and that she always drops her shoulder right before she’s about to try and take me down.” Jeongyeon shoots her a glare. There’s no bite to it, not anymore, and Nayeon just smiles.

Jeongyeon’s expression doesn’t change as she speaks. “Yeah, and I know that Nayeon puts more weight on her left leg and that she always follows up her kicks with the same combination of punches.”

Nayeon turns to fully face Jeongyeon, eyebrow raising at the unspoken challenge. “If we’re talking—”

“Do you both really want a different challenge,” Jihyo asks, voice smooth. “You feel like you’re ready to move on to something more?”

“Yes,” Jeongyeon exclaims as Nayeon nods enthusiastically next to her. “Please. Let me draw a rock and throw it at Nayeon.”

“I’ll knock you out with a sunflower, Yoo. Don’t test me.”

“Okay.” Jihyo shrugs easily, and warning bells sound in Jeongyeon’s brain. She knows exactly where this is going, can tell by the fluid way Jihyo moves. She opens her mouth to try and stop the inevitable, but Jihyo speaks faster. “In five minutes, we’ll do a sparring match with powers. You two versus me.”

It takes everything in Jeongyeon to not sink to the floor with a groan. Next to her, Nayeon stiffens, a low curse falling from her lips. “We didn’t necessarily mean that,” Nayeon tries. Jeongyeon knows it’s pointless.

Jihyo smiles, all teeth. “No, it’s fine. You two were right. The sparring was to refresh your hand-to-hand abilities and get you two familiar with each other. It’s clear that the initial goal has been accomplished.” She shrugs off her jacket, lets it fall to pool at her feet. “I’ll give you five minutes”—she points at the two watches now on clear display, one manual, one digital—“five actual minutes, to plan, and then we’ll start. Jeongyeon, there’s a sketch pad over on the bench by the entrance door, as well as a packet of seeds for you, Nayeon.”

Jeongyeon closes her eyes against the trepidation filling her, pinches her nose to try and stave off her oncoming headache. “You planned this, didn’t you?”

Jihyo laughs. “No, but I’m honored that you think I could, Jeongyeon. I’m just always prepared. I knew you two would be bored eventually. We’ll start n—” Jeongyeon throws up her time bubble before Jihyo can even finish her sentence.

Nayeon sighs. “We’re fucked, aren’t we?”

“Absolutely,” Jeongyeon agrees. She casts her eyes around the room, stopping when they catch sight of something familiar. “Do you trust me?” Nayeon turns to face her, and Jeongyeon meets her questioning gaze head on. Precious seconds pass, and Nayeon still doesn’t speak. Initially, Jeongyeon had meant the question to be a throwaway, a lead-in to her plan, but now she’s curious as to the answer. “Well, do you?”

Nayeon cocks her head to the side, lips pulling up and to the left. “It depends on the context, really. But when it comes to this? Sure. Why not?”

Jeongyeon nods, pleased, and begins walking over to the benches. “Okay. In that case, let’s grab our stuff, and then I have something to show you.”

“Do I get a hint? Or am I just supposed to follow you blindly?”

She picks up her sketch pad and pencil from the bench, tosses Nayeon the packet of seeds. “I thought you trusted me, Nayeon. Are your feelings so fickle?”

“I trust you when you’re not smirking. That’s the context I was talking about. Tell me where we’re going.”

“We,” Jeongyeon declares, looking to the other side of the gym, “are going to use the secret tunnels!” She looks back to Nayeon. “Don’t make that face! They’re real. I swear.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jihyo thrives off of throwing them into chaos, it's true. 
> 
> Thanks for waiting! I have since learned my lesson about writing 10k+ oneshots in between 10k+ chapters while trying to keep a 2-3 week update schedule. Come chat at @2yeonaus if you're so compelled. Hope you had a good time with the chapter!


	6. The Training Montage (pt. 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's some fighting and some fire and a dash of fibbing.

Nayeon blinks, stares at Jeongyeon as she gestures with a wall panel that she had somehow known led to a secret network of tunnels. Jeongyeon sticks her arm into the tunnel, goes on about positioning and the art of surprise, but Nayeon can only think one thing:

“This isn’t going to work.”

Jeongyeon’s mouth shutters, sentence about sketching restraints for Jihyo dying a spluttering death. “What?”

“We can spend the remaining minutes we have positioning ourselves in these tunnels, but that won’t help us outside of the initial strike. Can you honestly tell me that you think you and I could take Jihyo out in the first few seconds of battle just by getting the jump on her?” 

Jeongyeon’s eyes narrow. “You have a better idea? Three minutes.”

Nayeon ignores her bubbling nerves and scans the gym for options. “Jihyo has seven powers at her disposal. Shapeshifting and mind reading won’t play a part in our combat, so we need to guard against the others. The tunnels are far from useless. We just need to do more than hide in them.” 

“Elemental control, certainty manipulation, invisibility, gravity control, and super strength. Five,” Jeongyeon counts, ticking them off on her fingers. “We can’t guard against certainty manipulation.” 

“No, we can’t,” Nayeon replies, fiddling with the seeds in her pocket, “but we can put measures in place for gravity. I can keep us steady.” She gestures towards Jeongyeon. “Sketch out bags of flour so that we can scatter them on the floor and keep track of her steps. The rest we’ll just have to take in stride.” 

Jeongyeon nods and immediately begins sketching. A small part of Nayeon can’t help but be surprised at how easily she’s being listened to. 

“Two minutes,” Jeongyeon says, not looking up from her work.

Nayeon walks over to the opening in the wall. “How easily could I get lost in this?”

“You won’t. It’s a grid pattern with plenty of exits. One-hundred and ten seconds. Do whatever you’re going to do n—” Nayeon loses the rest of the sentence as she takes off into the tunnels. Her years of training have given her the ability to turn on a dime, and she maintains high speeds as she darts up, down, and through a network that does in fact cover most of this room. She sets the seeds down where she sees air vents and loosens panels at random places she doesn’t. She’s not sure how well this will work, but, when it comes to fighting Jihyo, everything helps.

Her and Jihyo have sparred before, quick and brutal things that, more often that not, left one of them bleeding and the other promising a free drink to make up for it. They’ve never sparred with powers before. She’s not worried about herself, per say. She knows they’re going to lose when it comes down to it. Her concern lies with her partner and her limited offensive capabilities. 

One of Jeongyeon’s powers seemed to only have lethal applications. The second has limited utility in active combat aside from sketching things. (Nayeon can think of several lethal projectiles Jeongyeon could make, but again, that’s not the aim here.) As for the third power—Nayeon curses when she realizes that they didn’t directly talk about Jeongyeon using what is arguably her greatest strength.

She finishes just in time, dropping through a ceiling panel as Jeongyeon’s countdown hits 25. She sees Jeongyeon surrounded by at least a dozen cans of paint, and her hand flies across the page to create two more in the time it takes Nayeon to fully land. She lets out a breath as Jeongyeon tosses cans of paint at her. “Here. Spread. Also, take your gloves off.”

Nayeon’s mind stutter-steps at the demand. “I said flour.”

“She’d blow it away with wind. Paint is more durable. Ten. Gloves off. We need every advantage we can get.” 

Nayeon shakes off her surprise and tosses the paint across the room. She calls upon several of the seeds she’s scattered around, rapidly accelerating their growth so that they can help her. She can’t help but be pleased by the way the reds, greens, and blues arc through the air and splatter onto the floor around them. 

The gloves go in her pocket, and she ghosts her fingertips over her palm. She wears these gloves so often that she sometimes forgets what it’s like to brush against her own hand and not feel tightly woven cotton. 

“Now.” Jeongyeon’s voice is low, but it carries with it a sense of urgency that Nayeon feels echoed in her veins. As Jeongyeon drops the time bubble, all Nayeon can do is think about the endless number of ways Jihyo could start this fight.

“—ow.” Jihyo’s previously cut off syllable hits the air, and the fight immediately begins in earnest. There’s no hesitation in Jihyo’s actions. One minute, she’s standing on the other side of the gym, facing them with her arms crossed, and the next, she’s gone, and a wall of wind is hurtling towards them. The sound fills Nayeon’s ears, a howling that threatens to overwhelm her. 

She drops several of the seeds still in her hands and hopes that the roots have enough time to ground themselves before getting swept away. She commands them to grow, to push their roots into the floor and send their burgeoning vines towards Jeongyeon. She hopes it’s enough. 

Nayeon’s able to clear the wall of wind, but it still manages to buffet against her, pulling against her flight in a way she isn’t used to. She does a quick scan of the room and sees that her plan had worked, for now. Jeongyeon stands where Nayeon left her, vines are wrapped around her legs to hold her in place. Jeongyeon shouts out a harried “Thanks!”, and Nayeon responds by loosening the vines’ grip on Jeongyeon’s legs. 

“Come on,” she murmurs. She flies to a section of the gym they hadn’t been able to reach, scattering paint as she does so. The section they had been able to cover looks undisturbed. She does her best to keep an eye on Jeongyeon as she scans the gym, and every time she looks, the other woman is just hunched over her sketchbook.

She’s sparred with Jeongyeon dozens of times at this point, and they’ve spent hours discussing strategy. But they’ve never fought together, never hammered out the nuances that would come from both of them fighting to take out the same opponent. _Jihyo probably wants to save that lesson for after she kicks our asses_, Nayeon thinks with a grimace. She glides over to Jeongyeon, not wanting to be too far apart when Jihyo is still unseen.

She’s only ten yards from Jeongyeon when Jihyo makes her move. There’s no warning, only a grunt of pain as Jeongyeon doubles over and then another as she gets picked up and tossed across the room. Nayeon tries to tighten the vines to keep Jeongyeon in place, but Jihyo is too fast, too strong, and Jeongyeon becomes airborne.

Nayeon flies to try and catch her, but she pulls up short as she watches Jeongyeon twist herself around in the air with a surprising amount of grace, landing with her feet on the ground, skidding backwards in the paint. Red and green splatters puncture the air. 

Jeongyeon moves quickly, diving to the side just as a jet of fire fills the space she had been occupying. 

The plume of fire stops, its searing oranges and yellows frozen in the air. “We need to mark her,” Jeongyeon shouts, and Nayeon looks away from the immobilized flames to see Jeongyeon finishing up another sketch. A can of paint is thrown her way, and Nayeon notices that Jeongyeon is holding several balloons. “I’ve frozen everything in this room but us. Jihyo will move again as soon as I drop it. Just fling this in my direction when you see me get hit.” 

Jeongyeon’s final sentence is delivered with a grimace, and when paired with the flush on her skin and and her labored breathing, it’s clear that something is up. Jeongyeon speaks before Nayeon can ask her question. “Jihyo is creating mini tornadoes around her body. Lots of momentum. Hard to stop for long.”

Nayeon accepts this with a nod, prepares to call the remaining seeds scattered around the room to life. She takes off, hovers above Jeongyeon, and waits. The flames burn out. Heat and the smell of burnt paint rush up to meet Nayeon, but she maintains her focus on Jeongyeon. It’s true that Jihyo could switch gears and come after her, but she trusts the relative safety of being midair for the time being. On a whim, she sweeps one of her plants along the floor in front of Jeongyeon, heart leaping when her the vine encounters resistance where there doesn’t appear to be any. 

The vine burns away instantly, and Nayeon flings her paint in that direction, sending more vines for good measure. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Jeongyeon dart forward, balloon in hand. 

Suddenly, the plants around her refuse to comply. She tries to move them, tries to coax them along with the energy that always curls so readily around her fingertips, but nothing happens. Panic lances through her, sharp and jagged, but then Jeongyeon thrusts her hand forward to slam her balloon into something. Jeongyeon sprints away, and the control of her plants suddenly comes back to her just as she watches an explosion of purple come from where Jeongyeon’s hand was. 

Nayeon doesn’t hesitate. She dives, accelerating to her maximum speed as she gets close to the floating splash of color. She half expects to be met with a wall of earth, but instead, she makes impact with Jihyo. Her momentum allows her to lift Jihyo into the air, and she flies straight for the closest wall. Air rushes by her ears, and Nayeon calls on several of her seeds scattered throughout the tunnel system. They won’t hold for long once she slams Jihyo into the wall, but four heavy vines will be as good a distraction as any. 

She feels pressure building between them as she accelerates to her final destination, and she can only trust that she’ll be fast enough to pin Jihyo before she gets her bearings. Nayeon shifts her grip at the last second, bringing her arms to the front so she can avoid getting trapped between Jihyo and the wall. The impact is heavy, and she knows she’s not imagining the panels on the wall crumpling slightly. Her vines move quickly, wrapping themselves around Jihyo just as Nayeon gains some distance. 

She watches as Jihyo pops into view, confident grin adorning her face despite the tangle of vines holding her down. “Well played,” she says. “No point in being invisible when I have a giant paint stain on my uniform.” One of Nayeon’s vines goes for Jihyo’s throat; it burns away. But the ones sprouting thorns manage to dig into Jihyo’s leg, and Nayeon takes pride in the way Jihyo’s smile drops. “I see we’re ready for stage two, then.”

The world turns.

Nayeon lets herself fall towards the ceiling, trusts that she can use her flight to catch herself. She’s vaguely aware of some of her vines wrapping themselves around Jeongyeon, and she lets that be enough of a comfort for now. Jeongyeon can handle herself.

She loses track of Jihyo as she falls twenty feet upwards, but the moment she hits the ceiling, Jihyo is on her. She makes it past the first volley of blows purely on instinct, the second because of a well-placed cluster of roses and their respective thorns. By the time Jihyo has started her third assault, Nayeon has blood rushing to her head, second-degree burns on her forearm, and a strong desire to slap Jihyo across the face.

Fighting upside down isn’t as visually confusing as she thought it might be. Both her and Jihyo are standing on the ceiling, so there’s nothing else that looks awry. It would be perfect, really, except for the fact that her organs seem to be weighing down her lungs and that her head feels like a thirty-pound sack of blood. Jihyo seems to be having none of those issues, and Nayeon knows there has to be some finer level of manipulation happening here. 

Her first punch almost makes contact, almost, but Jihyo alters the trajectory of her punch with a small burst of air and she grazes her shoulder instead. There’s a rip in Jihyo’s uniform, and Nayeon’s fingertips graze over bare skin. The edges of her vision blur, and she struggles to not let her vision of Jihyo overtake her concentration. She tries to focus on only the next thirty seconds. “Maybe I should’ve made Jeongyeon the combat specialist,” Jihyo taunts, seconds behind the one in Nayeon’s head. “She’s the only one of you that’s actually accomplished something.”

A spike of irritation unfurls in her chest, and she watches her future self make what looks like a good decision. She dodges backwards, does her best to put some space between her and Jihyo. Plants wind up her arms and legs, stab through the ceiling, and begin weaving themselves together in the air. Thirty seconds come to an end, and her future is her own once more.

Jihyo ignores her defenses, lashes out with an air-amplified side kick. The vines around her waist bloom into marigolds, disperse the wind before it can do any damage. The dispersal, and the look of surprise on Jihyo’s face that follows, allow Nayeon the chance to block Jihyo’s kick, move in close for a punch that actually lands.

And the fight takes a new rhythm from there. Nayeon uses her innate knowledge of plants to nullify Jihyo’s elements where she can, and their exchange becomes something akin to an elaborate game of rock paper scissors.

Water. Elephant ear.

Earth. Vines steady around her ankles and weaved together at her front.

Wind. Marigolds. Rosa Celestes. An array of shrubs. 

And fire?

Nayeon compels one of the plants dancing around the edge of their fight to swing at Jihyo. Jihyo all but ignores it, sending a burst of fire from her shoulder and focusing on decoding Nayeon’s next move. The plant continues through the fire, lands on Jihyo’s cheek with a sharp smacking sound. The look on her face is nothing short of stunned, and Nayeon enjoys it almost as much as the blood now trailing down her cheek. “Aloe is fire-retardant. Cool, huh?”

Fire is her favorite.

Jihyo laughs, lifts a hand to touch the scratch on her face. “Stage three, then.”

The world rights itself with a lurch, and Nayeon can only curse. This is going to be a very, very long morning. 

//

“I never want to move again,” Jeongyeon gasps out, stumbling against one of the lockers. Nayeon doesn’t even flinch at the resulting noise. She’s far too busy trying to walk forward without falling over.

“You’re not the one she threw into the ceiling,” Nayeon grumbles, wincing at the memory. She fights back another wince when she realizes that any sort of facial movement aggravates the cut on her cheek.

“No, I’m not,” Jeongyeon agrees, dropping down onto the bench in front of her. A groan follows. “But I am the one she hit in the back with a jet of water that propelled me into one of your plants, one with thorns.”

“I did say sorry.” Nayeon debates whether or not it’s worth it to shower before seeing one of the medics. On one hand, her clothes are soaking wet and covered in mud, on the other, the thought of having to go through the motions of undressing almost makes her want to cry. 

“I know,” Jeongyeon says. “We just got our assess thoroughly kicked. That’s all. At least she called off the serum training for this week.” 

Nayeon hums in agreement as she slowly raises and lowers her arm. She lifts the other one and stops when she feels white-hot pain. So it was her left arm that had gotten slammed against a boulder. She had forgotten in the haze of combat which one it was. 

It had indeed been a long rest of her morning, one in which her and Jeongyeon had front row seats to the force that is Park Jihyo. Seeing footage of it is one thing, actually having Jihyo easily dismantle every effort you make is another. They had tried, regrouping slightly after Jihyo’s second flip of gravity, but no amount of quick thinking was able to stand up to Jihyo’s powers. It had ended only when Jihyo decided it did, calling off the match after knocking both of them off of their feet with a sudden sheet of ice. By that point, both her and Jeongyeon had been sporting several injuries, while Jihyo had, at most, several scratches and bruises. 

Jihyo had smiled, told them serum training was canceled for the week, and then said they’d be doing morning trainings by themselves. And then she left with no further explanation. There was no part of Nayeon that doubted that Jihyo was doing this just to drive home how far the two of them still had to go together. 

“Rock, paper, scissors to see who gets treated by the medic on duty first?” It doesn’t take long for someone with healing powers to heal injuries like the ones they have, but she wants to minimize her time in pain if she can.

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Jeongyeon shake her head. “You can go. You did more direct combat with her.”

“Are you sure?”

A nod. A grimace. A smaller nod.

Nayeon holds back a smile for the sake of her injuries. “Thank you. Regardless, I think we should start our first day of independent training by taking it easy.”

“Smartest thing you’ve ever said.”

//

Jeongyeon walks into the lab for the first time in awhile on Thursday. The lab is familiar, a welcome change of pace after the last few weeks of training. There’s no Jihyo to throw fireballs or judging looks at her. No Nayeon to remind her of everything the Agency thinks she should be. It’s just her, Tzuyu, another scientist in the corner whose name she had never gotten around to learning, and her breakfast.

Jeongyeon takes a bite of her omelette and hums at the texture. She’s pretty sure they stopped adding so much milk, which, frankly, about time. She can still picture it clearly: Chaeyoung, the hem of Jeongyeon’s old and faded t-shirt resting halfway down her thighs, proudly proclaiming that she had made the world’s best omelette. The recipe had called for a tablespoon of milk. She would later find out that Chaeyoung had, for reasons Jeongyeon still doesn’t understand, added half a cup.

When Tzuyu calls her name, Jeongyeon looks up from her breakfast, abandoning thoughts of the world’s soupiest omelette. “What?”

Tzuyu smiles, sweet and innocent. The perfect picture of a dedicated scientist at her lab bench. “You know how this is the first time I’ve seen you in two weeks?”

“Yeah,” Jeongyeon agrees hesitantly, warning signs appearing in her brain as Tzuyu’s smile widens. Tzuyu’s notepad sits by her elbow. Jeongyeon wishes she would go back to scribbling in it. 

“And how before that you completely ignored me for a bit after I asked that question about you and Jihyo?” Tzuyu leans forward, resting her chin in her palm. 

Jeongyeon balks. “I did say I was sorry about that. Adjusting to training has just been a lot, and Jihyo and I—”

Tzuyu breezes by her explanation. “Make it up to me by coming to my place for dinner with Jihyo and I on Saturday.”

“What,” Jeongyeon asks, stiffening in shock. 

“It’s been forever since you’ve been over. Bring Lego. Jihyo misses her even if she won’t admit it.”

Jeongyeon’s eyes drop down to her tray. She looks at the remains of her omelette and tries to reign in the sense of dread stealing over her. “I really don’t think that’s a good idea, Tzuyu.”

“Why not? We’ve done it with Jihyo once before. You both were perfectly fine.” Tzuyu clicks her pen. 

“That was months ago, and it was before this whole”—Jeongyeon punctuates her words with a wave of her hand—”mission thing started. I don’t know how well we tolerate each other with this much exposure, honestly.” 

She knows Tzuyu means well; she always does, but Jeongyeon really doesn’t want to push things with Jihyo. They’ve managed to remain relatively calm around each other since that first week, but more often than not, Jeongyeon comes away from conversations with Jihyo feeling like she’s lost something.

Tzuyu raises an eyebrow, hums, and says nothing else.

Jeongyeon feels resignation settle in her chest. “You’re not going to let me say no, are you?”

Tzuyu smiles, clicks her pen. “Correct.”

//

Despite how much Jeongyeon doesn’t want Saturday to happen, despite how tempted she is to induce an Agency wide freeze so that she can delay it just a bit longer, Friday does eventually end. She spends Saturday morning a slightly nervous wreck pacing around her apartment and annoying her cat, Saturday afternoon a slightly nervous wreck fiddling with the remote and trying to convince herself that she’s paying attention to the TV. Saturday evening arrives, and Jeongyeon reluctantly rises to greet it. 

The walk to Tzuyu’s apartment is over all too soon, and Jeongyeon briefly curses the Agency’s dedication to compact on-site living quarters. Jeongyeon looks down and adjusts her hold on Lego. Lego meows, flexes her paws so that her claws poke at Jeongyeon’s forearm. “Yeah,” Jeongyeon sighs. “I think this is gonna hurt too.” She lifts Lego up so that they’re face-to-face. “Can you fake sick or something?” 

Lego twists out of her grip, landing gracefully on the floor and twining around her legs. “Useless,” Jeongyeon mutters. With her only ally set on ignoring her plight, Jeongyeon has no choice but to knock on the door to apartment 337. No more than 15 seconds pass before the door opens up. Lego immediately darts inside. “Traitor.”

“What?” Jeongyeon looks up and meets Tzuyu’s curious gaze.

“Nothing,” Jeongyeon says, shaking her head. “How are you?” I brought soju.” She gestures to the bag slung over her shoulder. “Andong.”

Her and Tzuyu speak at the same time. “Jihyo’s favorite.”

Tzuyu laughs, and Jeongyeon tries her best to ignore the victory Tzuyu’s eyes. It’s clear that Tzuyu thinks whatever issue exists between Jeongyeon and Jihyo is something that can be smoothed over with a few nice dinners. Jeongyeon wishes it were that simple.

“Come on in,” Tzuyu says, stepping back and pulling the door fully open. “I think your roommate already moved in.”

Jeongyeon says nothing, just playfully nudges Tzuyu as she steps into the apartment. The moment she crosses the threshold, she’s hit with the smell of spiced meats and roasting vegetables. She can’t stop the smile that steals over her face. Tzuyu doesn’t cook all that often, but it’s always a treat when she does. 

Tzuyu squeezes her shoulder and slips past her, making her way into the kitchen.

As compelling as the scent of dinner is, Jeongyeon lingers for a moment in the entryway. She’s always struck by the difference in their apartments. Tzuyu’s is warm and lively, covered in throw blankets and old knickknacks. Tzuyu had even taken it upon herself to paint the walls of her living room a gentle green, one that went well with the bevy of plants scattered around the place. A song Jeongyeon vaguely recognizes floats through the air.

Nayeon would probably love it here, she thinks as she brushes her fingers over the petal of a flower.

It feels like a home, and it kindles warmth beneath Jeongyeon’s breastbone. She takes another step into the apartment and removes her shoes by the welcome mat. Her left shoe. Then the right. 

Nerves begin to creep over her when she realizes that she has nothing left to do but properly enter the apartment and say her next hello. She can hear the disjointed ringing of a bell, a clear indicator that someone is playing with her unreliable cat. 

She makes her way into the apartment and finally spots Jihyo. She sits on the floor, hair in a loose bun, dressed in a light blouse and jeans that Lego is currently pawing at in an attempt to get a grip on the toy that rests near Jihyo’s shin. Jihyo picks up one of several other cat toys scattered around her, pulling Lego’s attention away from her leg with a low whistle and swish of a feather. Lego pounces. Jihyo laughs, and it settles heavily in Jeongyeon’s chest.

Lego rolls onto her back, purrs in contentment when Jihyo immediately pets her.

There’s something here that crowds the edges of her mind, tugs at the weight in her chest until she loosens her grip on the present. The echoes of a past that was never hers ring in her ears. False memories tug at her hands, slip between her fingers. Her mind guides her to a world in which her and Jihyo grew up together away from the Agency. In the space of an exhale, she can believe that she’s just here to catch up with two good friends. What-ifs manifest into eddies that spiral around her, coaxing her into muddled waters. 

Jihyo rolls up her sleeves to stop Lego from playing with her buttons.

The current is quick, but reality always asserts itself.

There are small scars littering Jihyo’s arms, some that Jeongyeon had put there herself, several whose creation Jeongyeon had borne witness to, and others still that Jeongyeon knows nothing about. She looks at Jihyo and feels something that can only be described as unsettled at how happy she looks. 

She watches Jihyo smile and laugh until she can convince herself that everything is okay. 

“I’m starting to think that you set this whole thing up just to play with her.” 

Jihyo’s head shoots up, expression sheepish. “Sorry,” she says, going to rise to her feet. “She came right to me. I got distracted.”

Jeongyeon waves her off with a snort. Jihyo drops back down to the floor. “Yeah, I can tell. Don’t stop on my account. I’ll go put the alcohol in the kitchen and socialize with your better half.”

Jihyo perks up, seemingly not minding when Lego fully pounces on her leg. “Andong?”

“You’ll have to wait and see,” Jeongyeon teases, turning to head into the kitchen. She ignores Jihyo’s huff.

She enters the kitchen and takes a moment to center herself. She watches the smooth motions of Tzuyu’s arms as she slices vegetables. It’s nice to lose herself in the rhythmic chopping sounds. She feels too present when she interacts with Jihyo, too aware of the sensation of being in her own skin. Tzuyu tosses the stem of the pepper into the sink, and the splash pushes Jeongyeon out of her trance. 

She steps farther into the kitchen, sets her bag down on the counter with a clink. Tzuyu stops chopping to wave a diced pepper in her direction. “Has your cat been stolen?”

The sound of Jihyo cooing at Lego reaches the kitchen. “It’s looking more and more likely. I don’t understand why Jihyo just doesn’t get a cat already,” Jeongyeon says, stepping closer. “She’s not out in the field nearly as much as she used to be, and it’s not like you couldn’t watch the cat.”

The chopping stops again. Jeongyeon watches Tzuyu push the diced peppers aside, watches her slide them to one side of the cutting board and back. “It relaxes her,” Tzuyu says. “I think she likes your cat more than most people.”

“She has taste, at least,” Jeongyeon says. She leans back against the counter. “But seriously, why doesn’t she just get a cat?”

The peppers get pushed once again: left, right, back to the left. Tzuyu adjusts her grip on her knife, clears her throat. “It’s against Agency policy to have pets.”

“My cat is currently in your apartment,” Jeongyeon responds. She takes a step closer to Tzuyu. “If I can have a cat, it shouldn’t be a problem with Jihyo. I know rules are rules, but clearly it’s not a hard and fast thing.”

Jeongyeon watches Tzuyu’s shoulders slowly rise and fall, hears the breath she takes, holds, and then releases with enough force to ruffle the bok choy she had just begun chopping. “Jeongyeon,” Tzuyu says. She reaches down to rearrange the leaves. “It’s against Agency policy to have pets. Jihyo can’t get a cat. No one can. She broke the rules for you.”

“That doesn’t—” Jeongyeon stops when Tzuyu turns around. 

Tzuyu smiles at her. “Do me a favor and grab the salad bowl? I want to put it together quickly to keep everything fresh.”

Jeongyeon nods, moving to open the correct cupboard. She knows a topic dismissal when she hears one.

Dinner prep moves quickly after that, Jeongyeon falling into step with Tzuyu just as easily as she does in the lab. It occurs to her, once or twice, to tease Jihyo about slacking off, but the truth of the matter is that Jeongyeon prefers it this way. Nerves still simmer in her chest, subtle, but present. Things are going well, which means there’s plenty of room for things to go bad. 

By the time she’s sitting down for dinner, Jeongyeon is more or less ready to have a perfectly normal evening with Jihyo. She’s practiced at suppressing their history, even if it doesn’t always work. 

The food is delicious, and both her and Jihyo take turns complementing Tzuyu until the younger woman’s cheeks are dusted a pleased pink. The quality of the conversation doesn’t quite match that of the food, but it’s far better than what Jeongyeon feared it would dissolve into. There are moments, ever so brief, where Jihyo will make a comment that gets under Jeongyeon’s skin and digs, causing Jeongyeon to hit her chopsticks just a little too sharply against the side of her bowl. They manage, though, and more than once, Jeongyeon finds herself wiping away tears of laughter. She tries her best to ignore the way she sees Tzuyu smile at her when she cracks a joke that causes Jihyo to choke on her soju. 

Dinner ends, and Jeongyeon manages to convince Tzuyu and Jihyo to let her wash the dishes. She’s ninety percent sure that the only reason she got away with it was thanks to how cute Lego looks. She shoos a distracted Tzuyu and an amused looking Jihyo into the living room. 

It’s easy enough to lose herself in the splash-clink of washing dishes and stacking them in the drying rack. The motions are simple. Repetitive. Soothing.

She startles when a hand enters her vision and plucks a freshly washed bowl out of her hand. “Here,” Jihyo says. “I can dry at least. I did literally nothing earlier.”

Jeongyeon overcomes her shock with a laugh. “You kept the actual guest of honor entertained. That’s quite important.”

Jihyo blushes, focuses her eyes on the motion of her towel. “I just really like cats. You’re the only person I know with a pet.”

Jeongyeon hums, dips her sponge back into the warm, soapy water. Splash. Suds cling to her hand as she starts scrubbing at a spatula. “Why is that?”

“Why is what,” Jihyo asks, running her towel over the bowl. She moves her elbow to allow Jeongyeon to put the spatula in the drying rack. Clink.

Jeongyeon dips her sponge into the water again, grabs a glass. Splash. “Why am I the only one with a pet,” Jeongyeon asks, after a moment, holding the glass up to the kitchen light to check for missed spots. “You don’t have one. Nayeon doesn’t, and she told me she wants a dog during one of our serum sessions. You two are good friends, after all.” The words are slightly bitter on her tongue, but she keeps her tone level. She sets the glass down on the counter. Clink.

“Pets aren’t allowed,” Jihyo answers after a moment. Jeongyeon watches her twist the dish towel in her hands, around and around. “You and Lego were a special case.” Jihyo lets the towel unfurl, pulls it back up, wraps it around her wrists. Around and around. 

Jeongyeon lets her sponge fall into the sink. Splash. Water gets on her shirt. “Why?” It comes out as more of a whisper than she intends, and something changes. She can see the shift in the subtle tensing of Jihyo’s shoulders, and she feels it in the way she can’t quite get herself to take a breath. 

It feels familiar. She’s been here before, staring at Jihyo, anticipation curling in her chest. She’s watched Jihyo walk away from her, time and again. She’s listened to herself drive Jihyo away with cold words and an even colder glare. This goes one of two ways, and neither ends with Jeongyeon getting any closer to fixing the ache in her chest: either Jihyo deflects with harsh reminders that their past is meaningless— 

_We’re not friends, Jeongyeon._

—or she charges head first into their inevitable spat. Jeongyeon knows why she does what she does when her and Jihyo come close to their splintered past; she can only assume Jihyo behaves as she does because— 

—“I wanted you to be happy.”

Jeongyeon blinks, shocked into silence. Jihyo isn’t looking at her, and she’s thankful. She feels stiff, frozen, but she fears her face may be displaying a vulnerability best left hidden.

Jihyo lets go of the towel. Jeongyeon freezes time before it can hit the floor.

“I had already taken so much from you. I couldn’t do it again.” Jeongyeon knows she’s imagining the unsteady note to Jihyo’s voice, but she can’t deny the way Jihyo is curling in on herself. She looks small, hands curled into fists on the countertop, and Jeongyeon hates the sorrow that wells in her throat. Jeongyeon defies logic, the resistance that twists in her gut, and admits to herself that even after everything, there’s no victory in seeing Jihyo look so small.

Jihyo tilts her head, meets Jeongyeon’s eyes with her own. They’re the same brown Jeongyeon has always known. Standing here, in Tzuyu’s kitchen, dressed in faded jeans and cat hair on her blouse, Jihyo almost looks normal. 

Jeongyeon stands before her, water on the countertop soaking into the hem of her shirt, and briefly lets the alluring sound of letting go chase away the echoes in her ears. 

It’s swift, tugs at her ankles and wraps around her throat. But reality asserts itself. 

She finds the words she needs to speak. “I deserved better than what you did you me.”

She can reach out all she wants—

Jihyo looks at her a long moment, eyes steady, brown, vacant. “I did what was best, Jeongyeon.”

—but Jihyo will never truly meet her halfway.

Jihyo turns, goes to pick up another dish. If Jeongyeon wasn’t feeling mildly sick, she’d laugh at the way the dish doesn’t move when Jihyo pulls at it.

She drops the time bubble. The sudden lack of resistance on the dish surprises Jihyo, and she jerks back, knocking one dish into the sink and another into the glass Jeongyeon had just finished cleaning. 

Splash. Clink. Silence.

It’s this silence that Tzuyu steps into, cheerfully unaware of what had surpassed in no time at all. She says something about a movie she’s been wanting to watch, some comment about the weird-looking male lead that Jeongyeon can’t quite process but that brings a smile to Jihyo’s lips. They fall into an easy back-and-forth, and Jeongyeon makes her decision.

It’s easy enough to beg off for the rest of the night, one comment about her lack of sleep lately enough to have Tzuyu ushering her out the door and Jihyo looking at her with almost-convincing concern. Lego comes with her easily enough when she pulls out the catnip, and then it’s just her and her cat making the short walk back to her apartment. 

She runs over her and Jihyo’s last exchange several times on her way home, and each time only leaves her feeling more and more conflicted. This isn’t the first time Jihyo has offered a glimpse of vulnerability and sincerity before reverting back to her normal glacial form. She could, if so inclined, gather up the softer fragments of their past conversations and build an image of Jihyo that’s torn between duty and an erstwhile friend. 

It angers her to think that Jihyo could still hold any sort of affection for her and have had the last several years play out as they did. She doesn’t fully blame Jihyo for what happened when they were just kids, but she places the weight of the last few years directly on Jihyo’s shoulders. She shakes her head, adjusts her grip on Lego. It’s not her responsibility to interpret Jihyo’s actions. Jihyo gave her the closest to a verbal apology she’s ever gotten, and, for tonight, she’ll let it be enough.

The walk back from Tzuyu’s apartment feels both too long and too short all at once.

_Week 6_

“All I’m saying is that she really needs to work on her—” Jennie freezes halfway through her rant about the lazy partner she had on her last mission, and all Nayeon can do is blink for several seconds. She feels a tension hovering over the surface of her skin, and one quick scan of the cafeteria is enough to confirm that she’s currently a step out of time. 

Nayeon turns, and, even though she knows that only one person could really pull this off, she’s still surprised when she sees Jeongyeon. It’s weird, seeing Jeongyeon outside of training. It reminds her of the time she had run into one of her professors at a concert—Certain things and certain people just belong in certain places.

In her continued defiance of Nayeon’s expectations for her morning, Jeongyeon sends her a lazy wave and a poorly executed wink. Nayeon makes her way over, doing her best to ignore the strange sensation of weaving through people who have no idea that they’re currently frozen.

“Hey,” Jeongyeon greets when she gets close enough. “Happy Monday. How’s it going?”

Nayeon raises an eyebrow, darts her eyes down to the piece of toast in Jeongyeon’s hand and back up to the glass of orange juice in the other. “Did you freeze time to grab breakfast?”

Jeongyeon shrugs, leans around someone to grab a tray. “I do this every morning. Just figured it would be funny to see the look on your face today,” she says. A smirk. “I was right. Also, it’s good practice for isolating you while freezing a large group of people.”

A disbelieving smile begins to crawl across Nayeon’s face, but it drops when she fully processes what Jeongyeon just said. “You do this every morning?” Her voice is flat.

Jeongyeon bobs her head. “Yeah.” 

“Why?” Nayeon reels. She knows that Jeongyeon has this power. With the way some guy’s face is frozen in a sneeze over Jeongyeon’s shoulder, it’s impossible for Nayeon to forget. And yet the knowledge that Jeongyeon can just do this, has been doing this, makes her stomach lurch.

Jeongyeon chews through another bite of toast before answering, the corner of her mouth pulled into a contemplative frown. “I didn’t really want to deal with new people when I arrived, so I started doing this.” Jeongyeon’s eyes are distant as she speaks, focused somewhere over Nayeon’s shoulder. 

“How long do you freeze people for?”

Jeongyeon’s eyes meet hers, lips slipping into a more playful smile. “It depends”—

It’s not helplessness, despite the undeniable power that Jeongyeon has in this situation.

—“most days it’s a maximum of five minutes”—

Nor is it anger, despite the fact that Jeongyeon has been reducing her morning by fives minutes for years.

—“but some days I take a bit longer because I can’t find the muffin or fruit that I want.”

No, the thing that slips over her, crawls under her skin and seizes her muscles, is a pure, unfiltered shock.

“I do it early enough that no one is really late to anything, but yeah.”

She realizes, suddenly that, when it comes down to it, Jeongyeon is a hypocrite. 

This is the Jeongyeon that had bristled at the mere idea of Nayeon seeing 30 seconds of her future, the same Jeongyeon who kept her past under jagged lock and key. Nayeon had grown to think that one’s time, that which had already passed and that which had yet to come, was the one thing Jeongyeon respected, something almost sacred. 

A silence falls between them, one in which Jeongyeon eats more of her breakfast as Nayeon lodges this new fact in her mind. Nayeon doesn’t know Jeongyeon, not really, but she had at least thought she had a decent grasp on her moral code. It unsettles her a bit, makes her feel like she’s lost her footing, but she pushes it aside. A time-bubble in the middle of the cafeteria is not the best place for her to process this realization.

She wonders, though, how Jeongyeon would react if Nayeon pointed out the contradiction.

Jeongyeon smiles, laughs when she tells Nayeon that she should go back to her seat before Jeongyeon ruins everyone’s morning.

_It probably wouldn’t go well,_ Nayeon thinks._ Not in the slightest._

//

Nayeon steps into the gym and mutters a curse when she looks at her phone and realizes she’s 10 minutes late. She had been on track this morning all the way up until she realized she had somehow taken a wrong turn and had ended up in an unfamiliar part of the Agency. She runs through what they’re going to work on today as she approaches the locker room. Absently, she notes that Jeongyeon must still be getting ready herself, because she’s not out on the main floor.

“…tell him that it’s just not working.”

Nayeon pulls up short when she hears Jeongyeon’s voice drift out of the locker room. She sounds upset, and Nayeon can’t deny her immediate curiosity.

“Dahyun,” Jeongyeon sighs. Nayeon narrows her eyes. Something about that name sounds familiar. Nayeon hears what sounds like someone dropping down onto one of the benches. “Someone blanking you doesn’t mean—Yes, soulmates. I know, but listen.” Nayeon raises herself a few inches off of the ground and drifts closer to the helpfully ajar locker room door.

“Sometimes relationships don’t work out, and that’s okay. It doesn’t mean you did anything wrong.” Jeongyeon’s voice is warm, soothing. “You’ve tried, and sometimes that isn’t enough. No matter how much you want it to be.” Jeongyeon’s voice softens around her last sentence. Guilt kicks Nayeon’s heartbeat a step out of rhythm. These words, Jeongyeon’s vulnerability, they aren’t for her. She shouldn’t be here, floating outside the locker room. She should move away, drift back and—

A wistful laugh is all it takes for Nayeon to stop her retreat. She’s only human, after all. “You and I absolutely should not have stayed together.” Nayeon stiffens. Dahyun. Kim Dahyun. She knows that name from Jeongyeon’s file. A beat passes. “Exactly. One relationship was not enough to contain the level of cool we both were.” Kim Dahyun is the reason Jeongyeon is able to bend time to her will, and also apparently someone Jeongyeon is still close enough with to help with soulmate problems.

Nayeon knows several other Triunes who still keep in touch with the people who had given them their powers, but hearing about it always leaves her uncomfortably surprised. Her and Momo had lost touch over the years, never quite able to get back their old friendship in the face of distance and a wrenching breakup. Mina had seemingly gotten on that plane and flown straight into the void of her new position at her father’s medical company, response time between messages growing and growing until Nayeon could no longer bring herself to try. Sana had disappeared, plain and simple. Nayeon hadn’t tried to call.

Jeongyeon doesn’t appear to have that problem. The knowledge that Jeongyeon gets to have people that stay settles bitterly on her tongue.

“…talk to you soon! Call me if you need anything.” A rustling noise, footsteps, and then, with horror, Nayeon realizes that Jeongyeon is making her way out of the locker room.

She darts back to the doorway leading into the main gym and arranges herself so that it looks like she was just getting in. Jeongyeon emerges from the locker room, sending Nayeon a nod and a small smile when she sees her. “Morning. How’s it going?”

“Fine,” Nayeon says, forcing herself to relax. Jeongyeon has no way of knowing that she was eavesdropping. “How many minutes of my morning did you steal today,” she asks, as she has been every day since their surprise cafeteria meeting two days. Every day, Jeongyeon answers with the same quirked eyebrow and mocking smile.

“Four minutes and thirty-five seconds.”

Nayeon studies Jeongyeon’s face under the guise of glaring at her. There’s tension in the lines of her face, but Nayeon sees nothing that looks like genuine duress. She really doesn’t need a teammate whose past leads to issues in the present. Jeongyeon just looks tired, which is easy enough to brush past. 

“That’s fast for you. Did someone feed you insider info about which muffins we’d have available today?”

Jeongyeon scowls. “Nothing wrong with enjoying muffins, but that’s besides the point.” She shifts in place, swaying slowly from side to side. “Would you be okay with doing hand-to-hand for the first fifteen minutes? I know we’re supposed to work with our powers now, but I really just want to spar the old fashioned way.”

Nayeon’s eyes dart down, noticing for the first time that Jeongyeon is wearing hand wraps. She raises an eyebrow. “Did Jihyo say something about your form again? You do know that you’re never going to actually meet her standards, right?”

“Please,” Jeongyeon scoffs. “I’m well aware of that. No, I just want to spar.” 

Antsy. That’s the word Nayeon would use to describe Jeongyeon right now. She’s usually doing something, fiddling with a ring or tapping her foot against the ground, but this is different. No part of Jeongyeon’s body seems able to stay still. Her hands rub together. Her knees bend and stretch as she rocks back and forth on her heels. Even her jaw is in on the restlessness, tensing and relaxing every other second. It’s kind of appalling, honestly, how bad Jeongyeon is at concealing her emotions. It’s something they’ll need to work on before getting deployed.

Nayeon can’t find a good reason to say no, so she nods and helps Jeongyeon lay out the mats for their spar. They fall into the familiar rhythm as they pick up, unfold, and place the mats. After that, it’s a matter of Nayeon going to the locker room to get ready.

“So how do you want to do this,” Nayeon asks as she finishes wrapping her hands and pulling on her thin cotton gloves. Jeongyeon stands across from her, only slightly less fidgety now. 

Jeongyeon shrugs. “Spar until tap-out? Or until we get bored. Whichever comes first.”

Nayeon tries not to let her amusement show. “You did say our spars were getting boring last week. You sure you don’t want to just give up now?”

“I did say that,” Jeongyeon agrees, “but then Jihyo kicked our asses into a different hemisphere. I now cherish the simplicity of just getting to punch someone in the face.”

Nayeon grimaces in agreement. “That’s fair. Your fist is getting absolutely nowhere near my face, but you’re welcome to try.”

Jeongyeon grins, and the match begins.

They’re about two minutes into their match when Nayeon notices the difference. They were just now moving out of testing the waters with half-hearted punches and kicks, and Jeongyeon’s movements aren’t flowing like they usually do. Nayeon sees looseness where she usually sees precision. Jeongyeon is still holding her own, but Nayeon can feel the difference in her blocks, in the blows she actually lets through. Her focus doesn’t waver. Her eyes never leave Nayeon as they spar, but there’s a distance there that usually isn’t. 

She assumes it’s the lingering affects of the call with Dahyun, but that’s Jeongyeon’s problem, not hers. 

She ducks her head under one of Jeongyeon’s punches and follows up with an uppercut to the gut. It lands, and Jeongyeon falters. Nayeon presses her advantage and tries something new, shoving at Jeongyeon’s shoulders to make her stumble. 

One, two, three steps backwards. Jeongyeon clumsily knocks away Nayeon’s kick. She throws an elbow. Nayeon blocks it with ease, slides her hand down Jeongyeon’s arm and shoves again. 

One. Two. Three, four. They’re a few feet off the mat now, but neither of them move to stop. 

Nayeon knows, with how off Jeongyeon is, she could probably just sweep Jeongyeon’s legs out from under her and call it a day, but something compels her to keep them both upright.

“You’re lucky Jihyo isn’t here,” Nayeon taunts. She needs to know that Jeongyeon can focus. “She’d be calling you pathetic.” Something flashes across Jeongyeon’s face, too brief for Nayeon to understand. But her eyes narrow, and Jeongyeon begins to look a little bit more present. “I thought you said you wanted to actually spar.” She has to hand it to Jeongyeon, even when she’s only half participating, it’s still enough to leave Nayeon breathing a bit heavier than normal.

Jeongyeon lunges forward as if she’s going to shoulder-check her, and Nayeon slips out of the way. To her surprise, Jeongyeon continues forward and past her. Nayeon immediately knows she’s made a misstep, but also, Jeongyeon’s never pulled this move before. She tries to turn around, but before she can, two hands shove her forward.

She lurches forward. One. Two. Stabilize. Pivot. 

Jeongyeon catches the back kick in her hands, immediately shoves Nayeon’s leg back towards her to throw her off-balance. She rocks back slightly on her heel and tightens her stomach to remain steady. She’s able to orient herself as she drops her leg down, once again facing Jeongyeon head on. They’re about 15 feet from the mat now, and Nayeon knows there’s a wall only 5 or so feet behind her. 

They look at each other for a moment, both still in a fighting stance. “Interesting move,” Nayeon says, keeping her breath as even as she can.

Jeongyeon smirks, face flushed and sweat beading on her skin. “I was getting bored.”

“Is that what you call getting your ass kicked?”

Jeongyeon comes at her with a flurry of punches, and as she blocks and dodges, Nayeon stays aware of how many feet away from the wall she is.

Five. Four. Three. 

Jeongyeon overextends slightly on one of her punches, and Nayeon sees her opening. She wraps a hand around Jeongyeon’s wrist and pulls. She expects to move to the right and have Jeongyeon lurch past her, maybe bump her head into the wall just a little bit, but, instead, Jeongyeon’s other arm wraps around her shoulder. Nayeon ends up somehow slamming herself into the wall, aided by Jeongyeon.

It’s a close-quarters scrabble from there, and it ends with the closest to a stalemate they’re going to get. Jeongyeon’s body is pressing her into the wall, forearm across Nayeon’s throat, and Nayeon has an elbow she threw hovering right next to Jeongyeon’s head. She knows they both know she could’ve hit Jeongyeon in the temple if she wanted to, just like she knows that they both know Jeongyeon could easily apply pressure with her forearm. 

Nayeon stays still, eyes trained on Jeongyeon. She’s perfectly fine with calling it even, at this point. They’ve sparred enough times that she’s genuinely lost count of who’s won more. 

A moment passes, and then another. Three. Four. 

Jeongyeon’s breathing evens out ever so slightly. Nayeon watches the distance appear in Jeongyeon’s eyes again, and she considers just letting her elbow drop. The moments continue to stretch out between them, and Nayeon makes her decision. By this point, she could’ve gotten out and taken the win, but she’s more curious about the expression on Jeongyeon’s face. 

She presses forward with her elbow, gently taps it against Jeongyeon’s temple. “What’s wrong with you today?” The words come out strained thanks to Jeongyeon ever-so-gently compressing her windpipe, but they get the job done.

Jeongyeon’s head jolts slightly, surprise clearing away the fog in her eyes. Nayeon doesn’t expect much from her question, maybe a laugh and a comment about not sleeping well—it’s been coming up more and more lately, and Nayeon can’t stop herself from noticing the bags under Jeongyeon’s eyes—but instead, Jeongyeon closes her eyes and huffs out a breath that skitters across Nayeon’s skin. The arm pressing into Nayeon drops, and she welcomes the return of her ability to properly breathe. 

Jeongyeon doesn’t move away, and Nayeon takes advantage of it. She traces her eyes over Jeongyeon’s sweat-dampened face, notes a particularly red spot on her cheek that one of her punches put there. She can see the tremors in Jeongyeon’s jaw, the way she rolls her lips together, clearly struggling with what she wants to say next. All at once, Nayeon feels Jeongyeon’s muscles go slack, a rippled release of tension that only heightens Nayeon’s curiosity. 

Jeongyeon takes a step back, and then another. “What are your thoughts on soulmates?”

“What,” Nayeon asks, surprised.

Jeongyeon sighs. She takes a step to the right and turns around, sinking to the floor with her back pressed against the wall. Out of confusion and curiosity, Nayeon follows suit. “Soulmates,” Jeongyeon repeats. “You have to have feelings on them one way or the other. All Triunes do.”

Nayeon stares at her. Of course she has feelings on soulmates. Everyone has feelings about soulmates. Granted, she does her best not to think about it, to avoid thinking about the thing that’s been haunting her since she had first realized she was in love. Most Triunes don’t talk about it aloud, but Nayeon has seen the longing and desperation in many a Triune over the years. It’s something she’s proud of having moved past. 

Sana was it, in a way. The very last person Nayeon had ever fully thrown herself into a relationship with, even if she hadn’t realized it until they were falling apart. After Momo, she had done her best to ignore the concept of soulmates, and, for a time, she had even convinced herself that it didn’t matter. Her mind had been a traitor, though, whispering _what-ifs_ that only got louder after she kissed Mina. Before Mina, she had wanted freedom. Then Mina had plucked her heart out of her chest, and all Nayeon had wanted was to be stuck. 

Mina left, and Nayeon had to face the truth, if only for a moment. She did care about soulmates, cared about the person out there that was supposed to be her missing puzzle piece. She faced that truth for as long as she could bear it, and then she went back to convincing herself that it really didn’t matter. That illusion had shattered the day she realized she had fallen in love for the third time. 

She’s not in love with Sana, hasn’t been for ages now, but she still wishes that she could’ve realized earlier, even if she still would’ve ended up a Triune, even if Sana still left her in the end. 

The Nayeon of six years ago had deserved the chance to cup Sana’s cheek, smile at the shyness that would follow, and tell the other woman that she loved her. They had fallen apart in the dark, and Nayeon wishes they could’ve stepped into the daylight. Just once. 

Something—she can only hope it isn’t too much—must show on her face, because Jeongyeon just bites out a laugh at her continued silence. “Right. Dumb question. Well, anyways.” Jeongyeon’s head thuds against the wall. “Dahyun found her soulmate several years ago, but she’s not happy anymore.”

“Oh.” Nayeon swallows down the discomfort in her throat. Jeongyeon had no idea of knowing the mental journey her words had just sent Nayeon on. “I’m sorry.” There’s a hitch in her voice as she speaks, ever so small, but the look on Jeongyeon’s face tells her that it was heard loud and clear.

Jeongyeon scoffs. “You don’t even know her.”

“So what?” Nayeon bristles. “I don’t have to know someone to care about their soulmate troubles. It’s called sympathy. Look it up.”

A beat passes. Jeongyeon’s mouth opens, closes, and then opens again. “Whatever. She doesn’t want to leave because she thinks being soulmates means she should stay.”

The frown on Jeongyeon’s face answers her question, but she asks anyway. “You don’t agree?”

“Of course not,” Jeongyeon says. “When it comes down to it, a soulmate is someone that takes your powers away. Dahyun’s soulmate was a Triune before they kissed.” Nayeon’s jaw drops in surprise. Jeongyeon laughs. “Exactly. They were happy for the first year or two, but there’s this resentment that’s just been bubbling underneath the surface for years and years. She’s still trying, but”—Jeongyeon shakes her head—“I think she’s fighting a battle she can’t admit she’s lost.”

“This is what’s been distracting you?” Nayeon knows the answer to this question too but asks to cover up her earlier eavesdropping. 

“Yes,” Jeongyeon admits with a heavy sigh.

“Why?” Jeongyeon shoots her a look. “Why to the point that you’re so distracted?”

“Well, I never enjoy hearing my friend so upset, but also this whole soulmates thing always pisses me off.” Jeongyeon crosses her arms, getting visibly more agitated. “If she’s unhappy, if the relationship isn’t working, if nothing is fixing it, she should just leave! But the whole ‘soulmates’ thing makes it so much harder for people to think clearly.”

“So you’re still bitter about Romeo and Juliet, then,” Nayeon teases. Jeongyeon isn’t the first person she’s met that puts such little stock in soulmates, and Nayeon knows better than to get into a fight about it. She herself may prefer never thinking about the whole thing, but she knows what the numbers are and what the studies show. Soulmates are called soulmates for a reason. 

Jeongyeon groans, drops her head into her hands. “God, I had forgotten that you knew about that. Don’t get me started.”

Nayeon can’t help but smile. “You did say you’d tell me if I asked you about it outside of serum practice. So, go ahead.”

She sees Jeongyeon’s shoulders raise and lower, hears an exhale of breath. Jeongyeon straightens up, looks at her with a grimace. “Okay, so. When I was in high school, I thought Romeo and Juliet themselves were the biggest idiots.” Nayeon laughs in surprise at her bluntness, and Jeongyeon carries right on, lips twitching slightly upwards. “Romeo insisting that he knew Juliet was his soulmate just by _looking_ at her was ridiculous. I mean, Mercutio even reminds Romeo that he thought Rosaline was his soulmate last week. He doesn’t even have powers, anyway, so he wouldn’t even know if Juliet was his soulmate if he got to kiss her!”

Jeongyeon pauses to take a breath, eyes closing for a moment, and all Nayeon can do is watch. She would have never, in a million years, guessed that she would see Jeongyeon this worked up about an old play. Her hands had started out on her knees, but the more she talked, the more animated they became.

“Juliet, who is only 13, also decides that she can detect her soulmate on sight. She also doesn’t have powers, because, you know, she’s 13 goddamn years old,” Jeongyeon says, running her hands over her face. When Nayeon next sees her face, a scowl adorns it.

Nayeon raises an eyebrow. “So you’re anti-Romeo-and-Juliet and anti-soulmate?”

Jeongyeon shakes her head, the look on her face becoming a bit more measured. “Not really. Eventually, I realized the adults were the actual problem.” Jeongyeon’s eyes meet hers, holding steady. “Romeo and Juliet were just two stupid kids. The adults around them were too caught up in their bullshit, and Romeo and Juliet got caught in the crossfire.” Her eyes drop to her hands, raise again. There’s a weight to Jeongyeon’s words that Nayeon hadn’t expected. “For all of their powers, the Montagues and Capulets failed to protect the people they were supposed to.”

“Pro Romeo and Juliet.”

A laugh. “Let’s not push it.”

“What about soulmates then?”

“I think,” Jeongyeon beings, turning so that she’s leaning against the wall with her shoulder, “that the person who blanks you is just the person that blanks you. People give it too much weight.”

There’s a pause, and Nayeon rolls the words around in her head. She’s tempted, for just a moment, to go back on her earlier decision disagree with Jeongyeon, maybe challenge an ideal or two, but she pushes the idea away when she realizes that now is not the time nor place. Nor is she completely sure that Jeongyeon is someone she’d really even want to have that discussion with.

“And it bothers you that your friend is so willing to stay in a bad relationship because of the soulmate thing?”

“Of course it does.”

“And that’s why you were so distracted during sparring that a toddler could’ve wiped the floor with you?”

Jeongyeon rolls onto her feet with a huff, shooting Nayeon a glare. “Let’s do powers. You can try and make dumb jokes, and I’ll freeze you before you can even open your mouth.”

Nayeon stands, adopting an air of arrogance that she knows annoys Jeongyeon. “I’d like to see you try.”

//

They forgo physical training on Thursday, preferring to spend their time before their schedule serum session trying to plan for tomorrow’s spar with Jihyo.

Jeongyeon points at the note Nayeon had made a few minutes ago. “Won’t it be better if use my sketch powers to augment your plants in the beginning of the battle? I’ll probably have more control at that point. I’ll have more energy to freeze time, too.”

Nayeon hums. “Good point. Alright, so Option A is overloading her with plants before she can really steady herself.” She takes a step to the right and points to a separate part of the whiteboard. “Option B is distracting her from the front while you prepare an attack from the tunnels.” 

Jeongyeon nods, and Nayeon continues moving down the board, reading their various approaches aloud and making small corrections when herself or Jeongyeon has a suggestion.

“Why does this strategy just say ‘bugs’?”

Jeongyeon laughs, walking to stand next to Nayeon. “That,” Jeongyeon begins, tapping the whiteboard with a smile, “is because Jihyo is absolutely terrified of bugs.”

“You’re joking,” Nayeon says, disbelieving grin on her lips.

“I absolutely am not,” Jeongyeon says. “I think we could make a pretty decent run at her if I just draw a bunch of plastic cockroaches.”

Nayeon laughs, and Jeongyeon smiles at the sound. “I’ll tell you what,” Nayeon says, leaning against the whiteboard, “you use a plastic cockroach against Jihyo in one of our spars, and I’ll buy you breakfast.”

“We get breakfast for free.”

“Once we’re deployed.”

“Deal.”

//

“Take a seat, please,” Jihyo says, gesturing for Jeongyeon and Nayeon to take a seat in the only two chairs in the room.

The chairs are arranged back-to-back, and Jeongyeon’s chair presses lightly into her shoulder blades once Nayeon takes her seat. There’s a furrow to Jihyo’s brow, one that tells her that this week’s truth serum training is going to be a bit different than normal. She shifts in her chair.

“As we discovered last week,” Jihyo begins, walking around them in a slow circle, “higher stakes seem to increase your ability to resist the serum, so we’re going to try and emulate those this week.”

Jeongyeon’s eyes flicker over to the table next to them. She hadn’t paid it any attention when they arrived, but something in Jihyo’s tone compels her to look over. There’s a few things on that table that usually aren’t, including two vials there that aren’t truth serum. She really hopes they aren’t what she thinks they are.

“I’m going to be asking both of you questions that are personal or private in nature.” Jihyo gives a tight-lipped smile. “You’ll both be able to hear the other’s answer, so consider it extra motivation.”

Jeongyeon can only hope that Jihyo knows better than to ask certain questions about their joint past. She can only assume so, seeing as it’s something better left forgotten. 

Jihyo continues on, the only sound in the room that of her shoes hitting the floor. “We’ll keep each session to a tight thirty minutes, but they’re going to be an effective thirty minutes. We’re only a few weeks at most from you both being briefed for your first mission. In addition to truth serum, you’ll also be injected with power suppressants.”

Jeongyeon and Nayeon let out noises of defeat at the same time. 

“Just great,” Nayeon says, shifting in her chair. “Perfect.”

Jeongyeon understands every ounce of distaste in Nayeon’s tone. No Triune ever welcomes the injection of power suppressants. They’re a wicked thing, cutting off one’s access to their powers for up to a day depending on the strength of the dosage. Even more so, each dose is unique to each Triune and their combination of powers. A Triune won’t notice the difference until they go to use their powers and nothing happens. 

“Yes, I know you both hate the suppressants,” Jihyo says, “but I hope you can both understand why they’d be useful here. The knowledge that you can’t use your powers will increase the weight of the questions.”

Jeongyeon looks at the table again, fights back a shiver when she sees two syringes resting behind the vials. She hates needles. It’s something she’s learned to deal with over the years, but she’s never been able to fully get rid of that sliver of fear. 

Jihyo comes to a stop in front of the table, taps the lid of the power suppressants. “Will you allow me to inject both of you?”

“Can I leave if I say no,” Jeongyeon asks, mostly to get Jihyo to stop looking at her with that furrow in her brow.

Jihyo raises an eyebrow. “You can always leave.”

“We both know that’s not true,” Jeongyeon says. “You literally locked us in here the first time.”

“Yes, well, you two were a bit more difficult during the first week.” A smirk hooks the corner of Jihyo’s lips. “I needed to do something a bit more extreme.”

“If you think about it,” Nayeon chimes in, “we do both keep willingly come back to be locked in a room each week and spill our secrets to each other.”

Jeongyeon fights back her immediate response of a scoff. Any choice they’re presented is an illusion. 

Jihyo moves to stand before her, syringe resting in her open palm. “Jeongyeon?” Her eyes soften ever so slightly, and Jeongyeon really wants Jihyo to stop looking at her.

“Go for it.”

Jeongyeon tries to displace herself from time as Jihyo readies the syringe, ties off her arm, and taps at the junction of her elbow to locate the vein. Jeongyeon raises her eyes to the ceiling and thinks of what she had for lunch yesterday.

Jihyo had surprised them by showing up to their strategy talk with tteokbokki, only to combat that delight by handing them an organizational chart that laid out all of X’s known associates. The fact that the tree was so empty was nice in the sense that they had less names and criss-crossing lines to memorize, but the sheer amount they didn’t know was bone-chilling.

It had been overwhelming, almost, until Nayeon had gone and dropped some of her food on Jihyo’s pristine printouts. Jeongyeon hadn’t been able to hold back her laughter, the name of one of X’s suspected medical suppliers blocked out by a half-bitten rice cake. Jihyo had sighed, exasperated, and Nayeon had turned to look at Jeongyeon, expression sheepish and just a little bit mischievous. It had been—

Jeongyeon winces. “All set,” Jihyo says, straightening up. “Here’s a bandage for the bleeding.”

Jeongyeon says nothing as Jihyo goes to use the other syringe on Nayeon. She watches a dot of bright red bloom on her skin. She tries to freeze its flow, but the red continues to spread.

“It worked,” she says, placing the bandage on her arm. “I can’t do shit.”

“Good,” Jihyo says. “Nayeon?”

“I’m a normie now.”

“Excellent.” Jihyo walks to stand in front of the table once more. “If you could both drink.” She extends a hand with a familiar vial.

The next minute is standard: Jeongyeon sips from the vial; Nayeon follows suit. They ask each other simple questions to confirm the serum is active, and then they look to Jihyo, waiting.

Jihyo begins pacing again, but her steps are slower this time, and Jeongyeon swears she can hear the space between her heel and toe hitting the ground. She circles once, twice, and Jeongyeon can’t quite bring herself to loosen her tongue. 

Jihyo leaves her field of vision. The footsteps grow heavier.

“We’ll begin now.”

Jeongyeon only has a moment to register the strange voice before restraints snap around her wrist and ankles. In the back of her mind, she’s vaguely aware of Nayeon saying something, slightly frantic, slightly angry, but she can’t make out the words through the surprise of the metal restraints around her wrist.

It isn’t until the voice speaks again that she fully comes back to the present. “Now tell me, Agents,” the voice begins, “have you ever been subjected to truth serum?” The voice gets closer as it completes it’s sentence. 

Jeongyeon feels it, the telltale disconnection between her mouth and her brain. She tries to resist the question that will give away their advantage. 

She can feel it, the sharp edge of panic that ever so gently peels back the fog the truth serum has draped over her mind. Her mouth opens. She’s not quite sure if it’s of her own volition or not, and as her tongue begins to form a response, she’s not quite sure whether or not she’s successfully resisted the truth serum. But she knows that she wants to.

The first syllable begins to leave her mouth, but it’s interrupted when the owner of the voice steps into view. “N—”

Standing before her, wearing a familiar smirk and an even more familiar pair of glasses, is a man that she hasn’t seen in over a decade. 

Her mouth moves. “Yes.” 

Behind her, Nayeon speaks. “No.” A scoff follows it. “Nice going, Yoo.”

But Jeongyeon doesn’t focus on that. Because she hasn’t seen Glasses in so long. She had assumed that she’d never see him again. She had looked, asked around when she had first returned to the Agency, only to discover that, for some reason or other, he had been moved to a separate branch of the Triune Worldwide Investigation and Control Enforcement Agency. Permanently. 

She hadn’t been sad, not quite. 

Sure, this was the man that for better or for worse, taught her basically everything she knew. Moustache had taken more of a liking to Jihyo. In fact— 

Jihyo. Right. This is Jihyo standing in front of her, no one else. It’s easy to forget, sometimes, just how effective Jihyo is at shapeshifting, just how easily she can stretch and mold her form into whomever she wishes.

Like Jeongyeon, Jihyo had spent the majority of her childhood with this man, and she has his mannerisms down pat, all the way down to the condescending quirk of his eyebrow when one of them had failed to meet expectations. 

Jihyo looks at her for a long moment. “Interesting,” she says. “Well, Agent Im, it seems like your counterpart disagrees with you. Let me try again. Have you ever”—Jihyo continues pacing around the room, footsteps heavy—“taken truth serum?”

Jeongyeon tries to control the rapid beating of her heart, the taste of bile on the back of her tongue. Nayeon answers. “Yes.” Her voice is flat. Jeongyeon takes no solace in their mutual failure.

“Interesting,” Jihyo says. “You’ve both taken truth serum before, yet you seem to have developed minimal resistance to it.” Her voice is a drawl, sluggish almost. It would be soothing, maybe, in any other situation. 

“Well maybe, mystery man” Nayeon says, clearly irritated, “if we had taken the truth serum previously while shackled to a chair and powerless, we might have a higher resistance in this situation.” 

Jihyo chuckles. “Well, Agent Im, you aren’t in that situation, are you? I hate to break this to you, but most times when you’re captured by the enemy, you don’t get to pick and choose how you’re interrogated.” The footsteps resume once more. Jihyo speaks. “Agent Yoo. I have a question for you.”

Jihyo steps into her field of vision once more, steps slowing even further. Her shoes tap purposefully against the concrete floor. “Do you have friends, Agent Yoo?”

“Yes.” Harmless. No chance to resist. 

“Would one of those friends happen to be Son Chaeyoung?”

Jeongyeon doesn’t want to answer that question, but her desire to resist isn’t quite enough this time. “Yes.”

“She’s an international courier.” Nayeon’s chair knocks into hers. “I’d like to discuss her last delivery with her,” Jihyo says, voice wrapped in velvet. “It contains information I’d like to know. Where is she?” The answer pops into Jeongyeon’s head immediately, and in her panic, she bites her cheek.

The taste of copper floods her mouth. “She’s in—” 

The memory of her last phone call with Chaeyoung howls in her mind. Chaeyoung had been having so much fun in Bali, despite the fact that she was delivering top-secret documents and under the constant threat of attack. It had been warm, she had said. 

The blood in her mouth. Warm. The flush of her skin. Warm. The sun on Chaeyoung’s shoulders, streaming through her fingers. Warmer

The restraints holding her in place. Cold. “Finland.” Cold.

A slow smile of victory pulls at Jihyo’s lips. Colder.

//

Friday comes around, and with it, Jihyo once again challenges them to take her on.

Jeongyeon’s cockroach ploy doesn’t win them the fight, but it does cause Jihyo to let out a shriek and surprise her long enough for Nayeon to rake poisonous thorns across Jihyo’s stomach. They also manage to last three minutes longer than they did last time. All-in-all, a vast improvement from last week.

Jeongyeon brags about her future free breakfast when they’re headed towards the locker room, half to tease Nayeon and half to distract from the burning pain in her right leg. In return, Nayeon rolls her eyes, but she turns away from Jeongyeon just a little too slowly, and the smile beginning to form on her lips is all too easy to catch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be the third and final part of The Training Arc. Thank you all for your patience with this part of the story! There's been a couple writing snarls to work through. Regardless, hope you've enjoyed! =]


	7. The Training Montage (pt. 3)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Conversations about trees, traitors, and the reality of it all.

Week 7

Jeongyeon doesn’t really expect to see Nayeon outside at 11pm on a Sunday, but, then again, she doesn’t really expect to see Nayeon anywhere that isn’t the cafeteria or somewhere they’re both ordered to be. It’s a cool and cloudy night, winter in full swing, and Jeongyeon had stumbled outside in the hopes of being drawn towards sleep with a few laps around one of the Agency’s courtyards. 

She had been partway through her fourth lap when she spotted Nayeon about 30 feet away from her. The moonlight was dim, so she wasn’t quite sure who she was seeing at first. She hadn’t expected much when she extended her awareness to get a feel for who it was, but she had immediately recognized the shape of Nayeon, standing there at the foot of one of the trees with her hand resting on the trunk.

For a moment, Jeongyeon considers just turning around and heading back to her apartment. She’s been walking for about thirty minutes now, and the lack of feeling in her nose and cheeks combined with the five yawns she’s let loose in the last two minutes tell her that she’s more than ready to try sleeping. But, seeing Nayeon in this setting is enough of a novelty that Jeongyeon finds herself walking closer. As she does, Nayeon’s voice reaches her ears.

“—cold out. Spring will be here soon. The chill won’t last forever.” Nayeon’s words slur together a bit, and she sways in place.

Jeongyeon realizes two things at the same time. One, Nayeon is tipsy. Two, Nayeon is talking to a tree. She briefly tries to remember if Nayeon’s power involves actually talking to plants, but she’s quite sure it doesn’t.

Jeongyeon clears her throat when she’s about five feet away, and, to her credit, Nayeon only jumps slightly in place, hand slipping off the bark. She turns, smiling when her eyes find Jeongyeon’s. “Hey,” she offers.

“Hi,” Jeongyeon says. She gestures at the tree with her head. “Am I interrupting something?”

Nayeon laughs, no trace of shame on her face. “No, just me talking to this tree.” She waves Jeongyeon closer, gestures for her to place her hand on the bark. There’s a looseness to her gestures that just further confirms her lack of sobriety. 

Jeongyeon hesitates, but one imploringly raised eyebrow from Nayeon has her placing her hand on the tree. It is, unsurprisingly, rough and cool to the touch. She hears Nayeon move closer, and then Nayeon’s hand is entering her field of vision, gently laying against the bark an inch or two from Jeongyeon’s hand. Nayeon smells like wine and a rainstorm, and Jeongyeon finds herself momentarily taken aback by the combination. 

Several moments pass with both of them just standing in silence, hands on the tree. Jeongyeon can’t quite bring herself to speak, unsure of what exactly she would say and not quite sure there’s anything she’d want to say in the moment. It’s a bit strange, yes, to be standing here next to her mission partner with their hands just resting on a tree, but it’s also peaceful. The sound of crickets fills the silence between them, and Jeongyeon’s eyes droop ever so slightly. 

Nayeon’s voice breaks her out of her stupor. “Are you going to ask me why I was talking to a tree?”

“I’m more curious as to why you’re walking around drunk at 11pm when we have training tomorrow,” Jeongyeon says. A particularly powerful breeze whistles through the courtyard, and she tucks herself deeper into her coat.

Nayeon laughs lightly, seemingly unaffected by the cold wind even though she’s only wearing a sweatshirt and jeans. “I’m not drunk. I had two glasses of wine at a friend’s.” She splays her fingers over the bark, tapping gently. Jeongyeon wonders if Nayeon is even experiencing the numbing sensation of the cold. Her fingers move with a freedom that Jeongyeon’s lost sometime during her second lap, even with her gloves.

“Well,” Jeongyeon says, glancing at Nayeon, “if you’re not drunk, then why the hell are you talking to a tree?”

Nayeon smiles. “I thought you’d never ask. I was cutting through the courtyard to get back to my room when I felt this tree’s energy. I couldn’t resist.”

Jeongyeon raises an eyebrow, intrigued. “You can sense them? Don’t they all feel the same?”

“Not at all.” Nayeon shakes her head. “If they’re not evergreens, they’re dormant in the winter, but this one had a bit more vibrancy to it than the others. So I came to say hi.”

“Do they actually—”

“I can’t actually speak to them,” Nayeon interrupts. “I can feel them, though.” Nayeon’s hand flexes, her gaze trained pensively on her hand.

“What does it feel like,” Jeongyeon asks. They’ve talked about their powers before, but never to this extent. She hadn’t really been curious before this moment, but the almost fond way Nayeon is gazing at this tree is enough to pique her interest.

“Warm,” Nayeon says. “Vibrant. It’s like dipping your hands into a hot spring, but you can feel how alive the water is. It’s comforting, too. Plants are so assured in their own existence—” she stops, pointedly exhales so that a cloud of water vapor forms between them, breaks against the bark, “—even if it really isn’t their season. They’re steady.”

“That sounds really nice.”

“It is,” Nayeon agrees. “So that’s why I stopped. The talking is mostly just to fill the silence.”

Without much thought, Jeongyeon returns her gaze to the tree in front of them. She presses her fingers against the bark once more. If she focuses, she can sense the tree as well, sense the molecules that make up its mostly rigid form. She’s never really tried examining a tree in this way. They’re not something she even really thinks about freezing, even when they’re within her time bubble. There’s movement throughout the tree, but it’s sluggish, easy to miss. It feels far from vibrant. It’s dull, uninspiring. 

“Any luck,” Nayeon asks, traces of humor in her voice. It’s then that Jeongyeon realizes she’s let her eyes slip shut. She opens them, blinking against the moonlight flooding the courtyard. A cloud must have shifted while her eyes were closed.

She looks to Nayeon, amusement sparking in her chest when she sees how the other woman is looking at her. “Not quite,” Jeongyeon answers, letting her hand drop from the tree. “I can feel that it’s alive, but there’s nothing extra to it.”

“Wait. How?”

“I control molecules, remember? That’s why we did some practice with me freezing you. If I really focus, I can sense how they move.”

Nayeon exhales, breath curling between them. “How accurately?” She tilts her head in curiosity, eyes reflecting the moonlight. 

Jeongyeon thinks about it for a moment, briefly distracted by the desire to shiver. “Pretty accurately if I try. I can get counts of people in a room if I have time to work through it all.” 

“Can you sense heartbeats?” 

“I’d have to really focus for that one.”

Nayeon takes a moment, eyes skirting up and down Jeongyeon. Jeongyeon waits for what the next question will inevitably be. She doesn’t expect much, maybe a quip about her needing more training or some comment about the tree, but Nayeon surprises her. “Can you stop isolated parts of the human body?”

Jeongyeon’s breath catches in her throat as a wave of anxiety crashes over her. “I thought we were talking about you and your tree friends.”

Nayeon chuckles, smiling lazily at Jeongyeon, which only serves to make her shoulders tense further. “We were, but I got curious. Being able to do that would’ve made many of my missions go a lot smoother. You know?” A knowing tone surrounds the last two words, as if this is some in-joke that Jeongyeon so happens to be a part of. As if Jeongyeon should immediately understand that she’s talking about using the ability to kill.

Jeongyeon forces a laugh from her mouth, fighting back a wince at how thready it sounds. “Yeah, I guess.”

“That could come in handy during our mission.” Nayeon’s eyes are slightly unfocused, and Jeongyeon can tell the words slip from her mouth without much thought. It’s easy, effortless really, for her to talk about having Jeongyeon kill on their mission. Kill for the Agency. 

“Of course,” Jeongyeon murmurs, not wanting to argue for risk of prolonging this conversation. “I’m going to head inside to bed, actually.” She goes to move away before Nayeon can even respond, but something stops her. “Are you alright to get back to your apartment?”

Nayeon rolls her eyes. “I’m fine. Like I said, two glasses. Go to bed. Lay down or plug yourself in or do whatever it is you do to sleep.”

“Since when am I a robot?”

“Since my mouth started moving faster than my brain could tell it to stop talking.”

Jeongyeon snorts despite herself, the vice grip on her chest lessening ever so slightly. “Goodnight, Nayeon.”

“Night, Jeongyeon. Sleep well.”

//

Nayeon tries to respect the boundaries Jeongyeon puts up between her private life and the Agency. She avoids personal questions during their serum training; she pretends to not be painfully aware of whatever convoluted history Jeongyeon and Jihyo have between them; she even ignores the small frown that appears on Jeongyeon’s face whenever Nayeon mentions another Triune. She knows—at least she thinks she knows—that Jeongyeon isn’t out to burn the Agency to the ground. 

There’s an innate anger and discomfort there. It flashes across Jeongyeon’s face when they talk about mission protocol, disrupts her steps when they pass another Triune in the hall on their walk back to their apartments. She’s unable to grasp how two years could instill such instincts in someone, but then again, something has been off about Jeongyeon’s past from the start. For her own peace of mind, Nayeon tries not to dwell on it. 

Sometimes she slips, finds herself worrying after Jeongyeon much the same way she would a friend. When that happens, when her eyes linger too long on the unwelcoming twist of Jeongyeon’s lips or the shadows under her eyes, she shakes her head and reminds herself of who they are and what they’re here to do. 

(She ignores the voice in her head that points out that not becoming emotionally invested in a mission partner will likely be much harder when they’re together for 2 years instead of 2 months.)

And it’s fine. Jeongyeon’s rejection of the very institution she works for and the people within it is her personal decision. Nayeon doesn’t think about it much in the grand scheme of things, and she doesn’t think twice about the words that eventually come out of her mouth when she feels time freeze on a Monday morning and turns to see Jeongyeon grinning down at her.

“Glad to see you’re not hungover.”

Nayeon doesn’t resist the urge to scowl. “I told you. It was two glasses. I was sober by the time I got back to my room.”

“I don’t know,” Jeongyeon says, lips curled into a smirk. “You were drunk enough to talk to a tree.”

“I already explained that to you,” Nayeon says, resisting the urge to cross her arms.

Jeongyeon shrugs, saying nothing, and Nayeon continues on to a different topic.

“You should say hi,” Nayeon says, standing up and taking a step forward. 

Jeongyeon raises an amused eyebrow. “Did I not just say hi?”

Nayeon scoffs. “To my friends.”

“Excuse me?” Jeongyeon’s hand tightens around the glass of orange juice in her hand. “To who?”

Nayeon gestures over her shoulder to her two frozen breakfast companions. “Yeri and Jennie don’t actually think you’re real.”

Jeongyeon raises an eyebrow. “Absolutely not my problem. I’m your mission partner. They don’t need to meet me.”

“Come on,” Nayeon says rolling her eyes. “Just say hi.”

“No.” There’s a bite to Jeongyeon’s voice that Nayeon isn’t expecting, and it leaves her speechless for a moment.

Nayeon takes a step back to send Jeongyeon a searching look, bumping up against the table. She takes in the rigidity of Jeongyeon’s posture, the way her eyes won’t quite meet Nayeon’s. “I’m not asking you to become their best friend. I just think—”

“I don’t deal with Triunes, Nayeon.” Jeongyeon’s voice is harsh, and Nayeon can’t help but rise to the mood.

“You’re a goddamn Triune, Jeongyeon.” Nayeon shakes her head. “Jennie and Yeri are good people.”

“Good for them,” Jeongyeon says, smiling far too sweetly. “I don’t care.”

“You understand that I’m also a Triune, right?” Nayeon tries not to get angry, she really does, but Jeongyeon’s being so goddamn stubborn for no reason. 

“You and I were made to work together.” Jeongyeon’s voice is steel, edges cold and cutting. “Doesn’t really count. I would’ve kept just freezing you in the mornings if Jihyo hadn’t done this to me.”

Nayeon’s fingernails bite into her palm. “Forget it, then. Just go ahead and spend your morning skulking around outside or whatever the hell it is you do.”

She doesn’t even see Jeongyeon react to her words before something in the air around her shifts. She’s left scowling at an empty space, the cafeteria once again bustling with life. 

Jennie calls her name, asks her what she’s doing. Nayeon tries to calm herself down, turns to give a response. There’s an answer on the tip of her tongue, one about rude and anti-social partners, but she lets it dissolve before it reaches her lips. 

“Nothing,” she says, sitting back down and waving off the question. “I just thought I saw a friend. Turned out to be someone else.”

//

Her anger doesn’t last long after their cafeteria confrontation, petering away to mild annoyance by the time they’re face-to-face for training. It certainly doesn’t hurt that she’s now able to swat at Jeongyeon with her plants when they spar. They don’t make any mention of Monday morning, and their walk back to Nayeon’s apartment is as tame as it’s ever been. Monday, all-in-all, is fine. 

Tuesday is fine. Standard. Jeongyeon suggests that Nayeon use her plants to hang them upside down on the ceiling in order to prepare for fighting Jihyo. Nayeon is skeptical, but they spend as much of the morning as they can bear standing on the ceiling and sparring. Nayeon isn’t too sure if it will actually help, but she likes to think it will. Tuesday, all-in-all, is fine.

Wednesday is a bit different. It takes her about fifteen minutes of standing around an otherwise empty gym for her to realize that Jeongyeon isn’t showing up. Part of her wants to brush it off, just do individual training for the day and let Jeongyeon do whatever she damn well pleases, but a larger part of her thinks back to a couple of weeks ago and concern softening Jihyo’s eyes. 

So, on Wednesday, she repeats her prior breaching of Jeongyeon’s apartment: she uses the moss, slips off her shoes to be polite, pets Lego for a few minutes, and then she opens Jeongyeon’s bedroom door. This time, though, she’s more prepared. The pillow she had grabbed from the couch soars easily across the room, finishing it’s journey by landing square on Jeongyeon’s face. Jeongyeon sits up with a gasp and a jolt, but Nayeon only sticks around long enough to tell her to get her ass to the gym.

Jeongyeon arrives 13 and a half minutes later, expression and words apologetic. Nayeon brushes it off, makes a mental note to get Jeongyeon an extremely annoying alarm clock once they’re out in the field. Wednesday, all-in-all, is fine.

Thursday starts out as a good day. The first time she wakes up, it’s to find that she has another hour left of sleep ahead of her. The lines in the cafeteria move quickly, the eggs are cooked to perfection, and she arrives five minutes early to their training session. About thirty minutes later, she’s struggling to tamp down irritation. Once again, she considers just training by herself, but this time, instead of flashes of Jihyo, the thing that compels her to seek out a likely still sleeping Jeongyeon is the irritation flooding her veins. 

The moss is exactly where she expects it to be, and it’s only a matter of seconds before she has the front door swinging open before her. She grabs a pillow from the living room, slips off her shoes, and continues on her way. Every step she takes towards Jeongyeon’s bedroom brings with it increased annoyance. Every press of her heel against the floor is a reminder that she absolutely shouldn’t have to be doing this. Showing up late to training because you slept through your alarm once is understandable. Twice? Pushing it, but fine. Three times? Not to mention twice in a row? Nayeon can’t help the tension in her jaw.

She shoves open the door to Jeongyeon’s room, more than ready to repeat her sharpshooter performance from yesterday, but a whimper stops her in her tracks. 

It’s Jeongyeon, tangled up in her covers like she always is, but unlike previous times, she’s in obvious distress. Nayeon takes a step closer and then another, pulled forward as if by an invisible string. She can see the way Jeongyeon’s face is covered in sweat, hear her labored breathing. Unintelligible murmurs spill from Jeongyeon’s lips as she appears to be struggling against some unseen force. 

The pillow almost slips from her grasp, but she fumbles for it and catches it before it hits the floor. Suddenly, she realizes that she’s standing right next to Jeongyeon. She doesn’t think she’s ever seen Jeongyeon look younger than she does now, and Nayeon is almost overcome with the urge to reach out and soothe her. Except, Nayeon knows two things: One, any physical contact with Jeongyeon will probably result in Nayeon being flipped over. Two, Jeongyeon wouldn’t want Nayeon’s attempts at comfort in the first place. 

Nayeon stands there a moment longer, gaze locked onto Jeongyeon. She eggs her on in her head, mentally wills Jeongyeon to overcome whatever demon she’s facing. Nayeon is torn between taking a step back or moving forward.

Jeongyeon makes the decision for her. One of her arms lashes out, knocking over the glass of water that was on the nightstand. The cup lands at the foot of the nightstand with a resounding thud, miraculously fully intact. 

At the same time that Nayeon realizes water is soaking through her socks, Jeongyeon shoots up in bed, gasping. She stays frozen for a moment, eyes staring off into a corner of the room before she slumps forward. Nayeon can hear the deep breaths she takes. Each one tears through the otherwise silent room.

Nayeon stands still, shocked and unsure. She had never really received training on what you’re supposed to do when your mission partner is running late and you break into their apartment only to discover them in the middle of a nightmare that they then wake up from when you’re still in the room. 

What would Jeongyeon want? A pat on the shoulder? Nayeon to leave immediately and pretend today never happened?

She’s not even completely sure that Jeongyeon knows she’s in the room.

Her socks are completely soaked at this point. Jeongyeon’s breathing begins to level out. 

“Morning, Nayeon,” Jeongyeon says, voice scratchy. Despite this, despite the fact that Jeongyeon’s words are partially muffled by her hands, Nayeon can hear the sardonic amusement in Jeongyeon’s words.

She doesn’t recover from the surprise of being addressed in time to stop Jeongyeon from speaking again.

“I assume the person standing in my room is Nayeon, anyway. I haven’t looked yet, so if you aren’t, I’m going to freeze time and kick your ass.”

Nayeon laughs despite herself, but it dies in her throat when Jeongyeon raises her head and their eyes meet. Jeongyeon looks _tired_, bone-deep and ragged. The type of tired that needs more than one good night of sleep to be erased. 

“I’m late for training, aren’t I,” Jeongyeon asks. She wears a light blue sleep shirt. Nayeon can see various places where it’s soaked through with sweat.

“Why else would I be letting myself into your apartment?”

Jeongyeon’s mouth twists. “God knows. Some weird training exercise Jihyo put you up to.” Her eyes flutter shut for one second, then two.

“Jeongyeon,” Nayeon begins, clearing her throat, “if you regularly have nightmares, the counselors here—”

Jeongyeon interrupts her with a scoff. “Not for me, but thanks.” Jeongyeon stands, grimacing when her feet touch the wet floor. 

“Let me guess, you don’t like the counselors here either,” Nayeon says, moving back towards the door to give Jeongyeon space. 

“Correct.” Jeongyeon walks over to her dresser. Her walk is as steady as her tone, no hint of the duress she had been under moments ago. “Sorry about being late. I’ll turn my alarm up. I—” She completes the sentence with Jeongyeon. “—haven’t been sleeping well.”

Jeongyeon lets out a hollow laugh. “Guess you’ve been hearing that one a lot.”

Nayeon knows she can be soft, knows there’s probably a universe out there where she tells Jeongyeon that she’s sometimes kept awake at night, that she has her own demons she’s running from. There is, perhaps, some universe out there where this encounter becomes some sort of emotional breakthrough for them, peels back even just a few layers of the armor Jeongyeon so openly wears. 

The thought of it makes her stomach lurch, and she falls back on what she knows. “Is this going to be a problem during our mission? You sleeping in too late.”

Jeongyeon’s shoulders stiffen, knuckles whitening around the handle of her drawer. “No, Agent Im. It won’t be a problem during our missions. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to get dressed. I’ll meet you in the gym in fifteen.”

Nayeon turns and leaves without a word, because there is an apology on her lips and it frightens her.

//

“Tell me, Agent Im,” Jihyo begins. She’s taken on the appearance of a woman this time around, six feet tall with muscle to spare. While the realistic training method has worth, Jeongyeon still thinks it’s a bit ridiculous to look at someone over 5’5” and know that it’s Jihyo.

According to the clock on the wall, they have a minute before they’re set free for the day. Jeongyeon mindlessly tugs against the restraints keeping her hands on the arms of the chair. “Do you regret any of your kills?”

Jeongyeon is a bit surprised at how easy of a question it is, but she’s even more surprised at how quickly Nayeon responds. “No.” It sounds robotic, which is good. It doesn’t do them any favors if X is able to figure out they can resist the truth serum.

Jihyo stops her slow walk around the room, putting her in the perfect position for Jeongyeon to see the grimace that comes across her face. 

“Nayeon,” Jihyo says, crossing her arms, “you’re supposed to lie.”

Jeongyeon furrows her brow in surprise. Was that not— 

“Why is that a question worth lying about,” Nayeon asks. Jihyo sighs, and icy disbelief flowers in Jeongyeon’s chest. “Isn’t it better that an enemy think me a ruthless killer?” Jeongyeon can hear the smirk in Nayeon’s voice. “Intimidation and all that jazz.”

The final minute comes to an end, and the click of the restraints retreating mixes with Jihyo’s words. “The point is to resist, Nayeon. I know you know this. We’re trying to increase resistance for easier questions that don’t have as much as an emotional resonance.” If her mind wasn’t currently buzzing, Jeongyeon would find it in herself to be amused at hearing Jihyo reprimand Nayeon in a voice that is so clearly not her own.

Jeongyeon hears Nayeon stand up, and she knows she’s free to do the same. But she’s frozen. Nayeon’s words occupy her mind, bouncing around what little space they don’t fill, pushing away any other thought that dares to pop up. 

She’s seen Nayeon’s number, has read the mission reports. She knows that Nayeon has taken lives before, but she hadn’t known it had been done without regret.

It was the dark side of the job, the side Jeongyeon knew they didn’t explain to new Triunes. They weren’t assassins, no, but sometimes extreme measures had to be taken during a mission. Other times, the Agency simply directed you to take someone out, claiming they were dangerous.

In the back of her mind, she hears Jihyo commenting on how today was a strong show of progress.

Jeongyeon knows the names of the four people who’s lives she’s had to end over the years, and each one brings with it the deep echo of remorse. It’s hard, working through guilt of your kills with a licensed therapist that has no idea you’re a former child soldier. She managed, mostly, but it had involved a lot of creative metaphors and a very convoluted story about her distant cousin’s koi fish.

She looks up at the sound of Nayeon clearing her throat. “Are you coming or are you going to sit there all day and stare at the floor,” she asks, eyebrow raised and smile teasing. “Jihyo already left, and I’d like to do the same. It’s a Friday.”

Jeongyeon leans into the quirk of Nayeon’s lips and away from the memory of her answer. “I thought if I stared at the floor long enough I would avoid another lecture on proper plant care,” Jeongyeon quips, rising to her feet.

Nayeon scoffs, falls into step with her as Jeongyeon walks towards the door. “Please. I’m doing you a favor. The fig leaf tree in your room is crying out for help.”

Jeongyeon rolls her eyes as she replies with something about her knowing what her own plants need. This is familiar territory, their surface-level bickering, and she feels more grounded than she did a minute ago. Her response prompts a judgmental glare, and a sentence even more all-knowing than the last. The momentum of the conversation is enough to carry them through the ever so familiar halls of the Agency, and it isn’t until Nayeon is fishing her keys out of her bag that Jeongyeon re-registers the final question of the day.

She doesn’t exactly want to ask the question, but she can’t quite help herself, words clumsily spilling out of her mouth.

“Have a good week—”

“Do you really not regret it?

Nayeon stops, door to her apartment open and one foot over the threshold. She turns to face Jeongyeon, and the door gently bumps against her back. “Regret what?” 

Jeongyeon can’t find the words, or, she can find them but she can’t quite get them to form properly in her mouth. Her silence must speak for itself because Nayeon answers her own question. “My kills,” Nayeon asks, eyebrow raised. 

Jeongyeon nods. There’s a strange pressure in her throat.

“Of course I don’t regret them.” Nayeon’s voice is smooth, even. Jeongyeon has no reason to not believe her. “Every single one was backed up by Agency intel. I was doing the world a favor.”

“Ah, got it.” Jeongyeon nods again, and she really hopes discomfort doesn’t show on her face.

“Do you regret yours?” Nayeon’s eyes sharpen, scan every line of Jeongyeon’s face.

Jeongyeon laughs; it’s forced, but she thinks it’s good enough. “I don’t have any, remember? My file is empty.”

Nayeon looks at her for a long moment before inclining her head. “So it is. Goodnight, Jeongyeon.”

“Goodnight.”

Nayeon steps into her apartment and closes the door behind her. Jeongyeon stands in the hallway for a moment longer and wrestles down a memory.

_Jihyo, crumpled on the ground, gashes criss-crossing her back._

_The rogue Triune that wasn’t supposed to be here, grinning wide as he brushes his hand over shattered glass and turns it into a knife._

_Jeongyeon, crouched where she was told to wait while Jihyo cleared the way forward. _

_The man comes closer. Jihyo doesn’t move. Jeongyeon really wishes she would move._

_Another step. Jihyo’s shoulders twitch. A whimper. _

_The man laughs._

_Jeongyeon moves._

_The blade easily slides out of her boot and into Jeongyeon’s hand, slides even easier into the man’s throat, draws out crimson splashes that paint a crude field of roses on the wall._

_He stumbles forward, turns to face her, and the look in his eyes is— _

Jeongyeon shakes her head, runs her fingers through her hair. This is not the time, nor the place. She turns and begins the walk to her apartment, steps slow and measured.

Week 8

Nayeon begins to get antsy as they move into the end of their second month of training. It’s not that she feels like she’s not learning anything, because she absolutely knows that she is. It’s the knowledge that they’re close to finally going on the mission that has her more on edge than normal. She tries to dismiss it, push the anxious humming of her mind to the background, but it ends up manifesting itself regardless. The frustration leaks out when she least expects it: Jeongyeon saying good morning just a little too brightly or making a reference to their approaching deployment. 

The third time Nayeon snaps at Jeongyeon on Monday morning, she watches Jeongyeon blink at her once, twice, and then a third time before turning around and heading to the locker room without a word. Nayeon feels bad, and then she gets annoyed at herself for feeling bad and then at Jeongyeon for having the nerve to make her feel bad. Jeongyeon is supposed to be reflective, take whatever shit Nayeon throws at her and give it right back. She can’t feel bad for telling Jeongyeon to go get bent if Jeongyeon follows it up by telling Nayeon she’s the most annoying person in the world and then laughing at her. Jeongyeon’s face isn’t supposed to shutter, eyes flat and mouth falling into disquieting neutrality. Jeongyeon is— 

“Here.” A bundle of fabric smacks her in the face and falls down into her hand. She splutters, caught off guard, and looks down to see her handwraps. She looks up at Jeongyeon, who raises an eyebrow at her before speaking. “Wanna spar out your shitty attitude?”

She does, and, somehow, it works, because by the time she’s all but secured her victory, by the time she has Jeongyeon pinned to the floor and trapped underneath her, Nayeon is smiling, breathless and pleased. “Why do you still fall for feints,” she asks, applying pressure on Jeongyeon’s arm until she sees a wince followed by a scowl. Jeongyeon attempts to buck her off, but Nayeon just moves with the motion, using her knee to press down harder on the arm not caught in her grip. Another scowl, another wince. Nayeon figures it will take another tweak of her wrist before Jeongyeon taps out. 

“I only lost so you would stop being so aggravat—” Jeongyeon’s hand slaps against the mat. Nayeon laughs at the scowl that follows.

Tuesday is better. Everything runs smoothly; she feels settled in her skin. She has a nightmare that night, all flashing blades and muted screams, but it’s the first one she’s had in a while. It’s easy enough to wrap herself tighter into her comforter and drift off again.

On Wednesday morning, she steps out of her apartment and spots a note taped to her door. 

_Nayeon,_

_Moving serum training up today because something came up with my schedule. Come to the serum training room first thing after breakfast. I’m leaving Jeongyeon a similar note. _

_-Jihyo_

Which is how she finds herself sitting in a cold metal chair on Wednesday morning, freshly injected with power suppressants, eyes locked on Jihyo as she hands Jeongyeon the vial of serum. Today was starting off a bit different than the last two times they had done this, with Jihyo no longer insisting on shifting into someone else to question them. They’re facing each other as well, and Jihyo had promised that they would not be restrained this time around.

“So, as you both can tell,” Jihyo says, moving to stand between them, “we’re moving things down in intensity this time around. You’ll be answering questions I ask you, but they’ll be just a bit less severe.” Jeongyeon extends the vial to Nayeon. She grabs it and takes a sip. 

“So am I still supposed to lie if you ask me about killing people or is that allowed now,” Nayeon asks, raising an eyebrow at Jihyo. 

“The aim of this, as it always has been,” Jihyo says, visibly fighting back the desire to roll her eyes, “is to lie, no matter how much you don’t care about the answer.” 

Nayeon smiles, amused at ruffling Jihyo just a tiny bit. She flicks her eyes over to Jeongyeon, but instead of the conspiratorial smirk she’d expect, Jeongyeon is looking at her with a furrow to her brow and a frown pulling at her lips. Jihyo speaks again before she has time to dwell on why.

“We’re going to talk a bit about your personal missions. There’s nothing we’ll be discussing that isn’t available in your files, so there’s nothing to hide, per say. If it’s a direct question, lie to me. If it’s something a bit more complicated—” Jihyo pauses, smiles in a way that doesn’t reach her eyes, “—tell me what you think the board members would want to hear.”

They both nod. 

“Jeongyeon, which power of yours did you get first?” 

Nayeon sees exactly what she expects to, a clenching of Jeongyeon’s jaw, her fingers curling into a fist in her lap. Jeongyeon’s mouth opens. “Time manipulation.” Her tone is flat.

Jihyo nods, marks something down in the notebook she’s holding. “Well done.” She turns to face Nayeon, eyebrow raised. Nayeon’s eyes linger on Jeongyeon for just a moment longer. The look of smug victory Jeongyeon is wearing makes her look 10 years younger, and it’s hard for Nayeon to fight down a laugh. “Nayeon, on your 17th mission, you had to destroy some documents that would’ve led to a convicted criminal being released from prison for a crime he apparently didn’t commit. Do you agree with what the Agency made you do?”

It takes Nayeon a second to process Jihyo’s words, which means that it takes a second for the truth serum to kick it, which means her eyes linger long enough to see the disdain on Jeongyeon’s face. But she doesn’t have time to deal with that, nor does she have time to deal with her immediate instinct to defend herself. She has a question to answer and a lie to give. 

In truth, she had hated it. It was one of her earlier missions, and she hadn’t had a firm grasp on everything that was happening around her. Her missions often involved her hitting the ground running and not stopping until she was done.

At first, she had thought the man was being set up. Then she thought he was trying to make himself look set up. Then she had eventually tumbled into thinking it was some sort of triple-double cross wrapped up in a conspiracy theory. Nayeon had wanted to hesitate, but her Agency handler had been so sure, so confident in what they were doing. And that was all it had taken, in the end. Nayeon had her doubts, but she had chosen to let her faith in the Agency wash those away. 

Still, Jihyo-as-the-board, won’t enjoy hearing about her past doubts. The serum pulls at her jaw, thrums under her tongue, but it’s not as hard as it used to be to wrench back control. 

“I acted as a representative of the Agency,” she says, keeping her voice neutral. The serum presses at her, and she stumbles over the first few words of her next sentence. “I felt no need to question the orders I was given. If the Agency saw fit to destroy those documents, then it was undoubtedly the correct choice.”

Jihyo nods, sends her a smile. “Very good.”

Nayeon lets out a breath and slumps back into her chair, ignoring the twinge of pain in her jaw. She perks up again when she hears Jihyo direct her attention to Jeongyeon.

“Agent Yoo, please tell me about your first mission. You’ve had one, yes?” It’s an interesting question to ask someone with no missions on record, and from the look on Jeongyeon’s face, also an annoying one. The fact that she’s able to react like that to the question tells Nayeon what she needs to know about Jeongyeon’s chances of resisting, but it also furthers her seemingly never-ending curiosity over who exactly Jeongyeon is. Jihyo wouldn’t have asked that question if there wasn’t something to lie about. 

One puzzle piece after another falls in front of her, but she still can’t fit them together to fill the gaps.

“I’ve never had a mission, Junior Director Park.” Jeongyeon all but bites out her answer.

“Too much emotion, Agent Yoo,” Jihyo deadpans. “Would you like to try again?”

Jeongyeon doesn’t even try to fight her response. “No.”

Nayeon just barely resists the urge to pinch the bridge of her nose. It seems like today is going to be one of Jeongyeon and Jihyo’s more combative days. 

//

Jeongyeon rubs her hand across the back of her neck, trying to soothe whatever aches she can with the simple motion. She’s done well resisting Jihyo’s questions today—they both have—but the effort has left her head feeling heavy and her eyes stinging. After the question about her first mission, Jihyo had thankfully moved on to more logistic based things when it came to her. Meanwhile, she’s had the pleasure of listening to Jihyo ask Nayeon about her past missions in very specific detail. 

She hates being reminded of everything Nayeon is. It’s easier when it doesn’t come up for awhile, when Jeongyeon can let the truth about who Nayeon is float to the back of her mind. Nayeon is a maze of contradictions that Jeongyeon prefers to ignore when she can, but it’s impossible to do for longer than a few days. Nayeon lingers at her bedside when she has a nightmare—Nayeon asks if her nightmares will cause trouble on missions. Nayeon is kind to her friends—Nayeon has killed people without knowing why. Nayeon has abilities that would make any sane person cower—Nayeon pouts when Jihyo makes them run laps. Nayeon smiles warmly at her underneath a moonlit winter sky—Nayeon wants to use her abilities to kill. 

Her clothes are pristine, her gym locker a mess. She reminds Jeongyeon of Chaeyoung when she laughs just a little too loud, of her sisters when she complains about mud stains on her clothing, of Tzuyu when she looks quietly over a plan, examining it for weaknesses. Jihyo. When her lips quirk up into a smirk as she talks about disarming enemies and eliminating people she knows nothing about. 

She doesn’t quite know if it’s from the sheer amount of exposure she’s had to Nayeon, but the other woman doesn’t grate at her the same way that other agents do. Nayeon is different, somehow, Jeongyeon muses, fingertips lazily pressing rhythms into her forearm. She’s loyal to the Agency, of that there’s no doubt, but there’s more to it. Something—

Nayeon’s laugh pulls her attention. “Did I ever tell you that he hit on me before I killed him?”

Jihyo laughs out a disbelieving “No”, and Jeongyeon wonders when she missed the mood shift. 

“I’m standing there, half-bloodied by broken shards of glass from dropping through the ceiling light, and after a second he just goes ‘Come here often?’ and chuckles. Idiot.”

Disbelief and anger spark a fire in her chest. 

“He did not,” Jihyo gasps. 

Her fingernails bite into her palm as words beat against her closed lips. It’s not worth it. She just needs to make it through the rest of the session, and then she can leave. 

Nayeon’s laugh grates against her ears. “Oh he did. It almost made me feel bad about the whole ‘making it look like he had a heart attack’ thing.”

Each word stokes her anger higher, coaxes it into something ever hotter with each careless utterance. 

“Guess he should’ve brushed up on his pick-up lines.”

Jeongyeon drags her nails against her palm, trying to grip onto her last vestiges of control. She tries to loosen her fist and take a deep breath, only to find herself shaking. She wraps her foot around the leg of her chair, tries to brace herself against it. Something wells in her throat behind the anger, murky and heavy.

“It’s a shame his last words were so wasted.”

As the flames reach their zenith, color her vision red, Jeongyeon tries to stop time. If she could just give herself five minutes, she knows that she could calm down. She tries, but they keep talking. And then she remembers the suppressants. 

“I’ve heard worse, trust me.”

The unknown feeling crystallizes, makes itself known by blooming in her chest, grotesque and pulsing.

_Disgust._

The remaining control she had slips from her fingertips, and the alluring roar of the truth serum rushes up to meet her. She’s not looking at either of them, can’t bring herself to see the humor on their faces. “So it’s all just one big joke to you?”

A moment passes, the pounding in Jeongyeon’s head gets louder. 

“Excuse me?” Nayeon speaks, voice bordering on incredulous, and Jeongyeon gives herself over to the knowledge that continuing down this road won’t be pretty.

“You killed a man,” Jeongyeon says, voice low, “and you’re laughing about it.” She looks up, finding Jihyo’s eyes. “It’s a joke to you. Just one more drop of blood on your hands.” Her words are measured, slow. Her jaw tenses with each syllable that leaves her mouth.

Jihyo and Nayeon look at her, then they glance at each other, before looking back to her. They’re so alike, Jeongyeon acknowledges, not for the first time.

“It’s just an old mission, Jeongyeon. He got what he deserved.” Nayeon says, palms open in front of her as if soothing a caged animal, and Jeongyeon _hates_ it. Hates the way Nayeon looks at her with soft eyes their own now-familiar shade of brown. Jeongyeon knows that Nayeon is just like Jihyo, sees it in the way they carry themselves, in the laughter that had echoed so easily around the room. She wants, almost desperately, for Nayeon to be different, wants to be able to relax around the person she’ll be spending the next two years of her life with. She wants these things because it would make life easier, but wanting something doesn’t make it real.

Jeongyeon knows it’s time to stop pretending. Nayeon isn’t the exception to the rule; she’s an extension of it.

She runs her tongue along her teeth, sharpens the words she can’t hold back. “Did you even know if he was actually guilty, or did you just follow orders like a loyal dog?”

Nayeon jerks forward in her chair, hands clenched. “What the fuck is your problem?”

“My problem?” Jeongyeon stands, feels a grin carve itself onto her face. “My problem is that I’ve been placed on a team with someone that kills without remorse or regret, someone who follows the Agency’s commands without question. When’s the last time you thought for yourself?” Her voice is dripping with sincerity’s sweet poison, and the fire in her chest is spreading now, burning everything away and leaving lightness in its wake. There’s no resistance, no second though. Just a wild, boundless truth on her lips.

Hurt flashes ever so quickly across Nayeon’s face, and something in Jeongyeon’s gut twists. But then it becomes anger, flaring across Nayeon’s face. “How dare you?” Her words are low, forced through gritted teeth. “I do what I do to help people!”

“Help people,” Jeongyeon gasps out through a wild laugh. The smile on her face begins to strain. “I thought you were smart, Nayeon. The Agency uses us to do whatever the fuck it wants! Who can say how many innocents you’ve killed. Good thing you have no regrets, huh?”

Another flash of hurt. Whatever connection exists between them stretches, begins to fray. Jeongyeon wants it to snap, needs it to. She refuses to repeat her past mistakes.

Nayeon shoots to her feet, knocking her chair over with a metallic crash. Jeongyeon flinches, but Nayeon ignores it, eyes locked on Jeongyeon. Jeongyeon half-expects to be punched in the face when Nayeon gets closer. Instead, Nayeon just stops, close enough to make the space between them feel far too small. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Jihyo move closer, hands uselessly outstretched. 

Jeongyeon opens her mouth to respond, momentarily caught off guard by the raw emotion on Nayeon’s face. In a fleeting moment of clarity, she realizes that they’re both being affected by the serum. “Wh—”

“No,” Nayeon interrupts, voice sharp. “My turn.” She doesn’t move any closer, but Jeongyeon feels stifled all the same. Apprehension trickles down her spine, holds her in place even as Nayeon’s face twists with anger. Every line of her form screams dangerous, and Jeongyeon sees the Nayeon she had previously only seen in footage of missions past. There’s a look in her eyes that’s familiar as well, one much clearer when not filtered through a shaky camera. Nayeon has destruction in her veins, and Jeongyeon can’t look away.

“It’s clear you don’t want to be here,” Nayeon spits. “So leave.” Nayeon pauses, lips curling around her words. “It’s not like you’d be leaving any friends behind.”

Heat flares across the back of her neck. “You think I wouldn’t leave if I could,” Jeongyeon asks. Her voice trembles, a solitary leaf in the storm that is Nayeon’s fury. “I don’t have a choice, Nayeon. I _can’t_ leave.”

Nayeon scoffs, glaring. “It’s a job. Quit.”

“You really think it’s that easy,” Jeongyeon asks, voice rising. “You think I could just what? Fill out a resignation form and turn it into the board and it’s all settled?”

“I’ve known people to leave before.” Nayeon’s arms are crossed, and Jeongyeon watches her fingers twist into the fabric of her training shirt before releasing. 

“Have you” Jeongyeon asks, taking a step forward. “Or have you just seen Triunes get shipped off to safe houses once they’ve been blanked?”

Nayeon smiles, mirthless. “Now that you mention it, I’ve never met a Triune who’s actually wanted to leave before. Most people actually like it here. They’re perfectly loyal lap dogs.” Nayeon’s tone is mocking, dismissive, and it sharpens the anger in Jeongyeon’s head to a point, presses its bitterness onto her tongue.

“Do you know why, Agent Im, Triunes are counted as Triunes only once they have three S-grade powers? Why there’s an age cutoff?”

“To be efficient at their jobs,” Nayeon answers, “Don’t tell me your temper tantrums caused you to lose basic reason.”

“The reason,” Jeongyeon begins, ignoring Jihyo taking another step towards them, “the reason is because if you have three S-class powers before you’re thirty, your heart is probably pretty battered.” Her mouth is dry, tongue sandpaper in her mouth. “They want you broken. They want to swoop in when you’re at your most vulnerable and offer you something to cling to. They take the broken pieces of your heart, pour it into a mold that fits what they want, and then they tell you that you’re saving the world. They’ll just as soon rebreak you if it fits their whims. We’re pawns, Nayeon.” Her voice strains over her last sentence.

Nayeon’s eyes flicker to Jihyo for just a moment, and it stokes the fires in Jeongyeon’s chest higher. 

“You—”

Nayeon’s harsh laughter cuts her off. “You really think you’re so much better than them, don’t you?” She shakes her head. “You try so goddamn hard to distance yourself from who you are. What you are. You purposely avoid every shred of human interaction you can, even if someone’s just smiling at you! You are aware that you steal time from people for your own convenience every morning, right? Who the fuck does that?”

Jeongyeon blinks, taken aback for just a moment by having that thrown in her face. “Someone who’s sick of being surrounded by people who refuse to acknowledge the truth.” Jeongyeon cocks her head, meets Jihyo’s wide eyes for a moment before sliding her gaze back to Nayeon. “To be an Agent is to let your blind faith lead you into being exactly what the Agency wants you to be, no matter the cost. Jihyo could tell you. She uses people and tosses them aside so artfully.” She can’t stop herself from looking directly at Jihyo as she continues. “All without a second thought.”

“Enough.” Jihyo’s voice cuts through the pointed silence that follows Jeongyeon’s words. “You’re both not thinking clearly.”

Jeongyeon sends Jihyo a tight smile. “I think I’m quite levelheaded at the moment. I know exactly how clearly I’m thinking.”

Jihyo’s fingers snap into a fist, knuckles whitening. “If that’s truly what you think about me, Agent Yoo, you don’t know me well at all.”

Jeongyeon feels her mouth quiver, threaten to curve downward. She swallows down the feeling crawling up her throat and laughs because it’s better than a scream. “That’s bullshit, and you know it. “ She steps past Nayeon, walks as close to Jihyo as she can bear to be. “I _know_ you,” she hisses, nails biting crescents into her palm. “I know you better than anyone.” One step. Jihyo’s form begins to look a bit blurry around the edges. “I know your file top to bottom.” And then another. She can hear the unsteady way Jihyo breathes. 

“I know,” Jeongyeon begins, “how you started.” Her final step. She can see the thrum of Jihyo’s pulse along her throat. “I know where you are now.” Jihyo takes a step back, trembling from anger or something else Jeongyeon can’t tell. It’s almost enough to make her stop, but her words are a torrent on her lips. “I even know who you were in between. I’ve read the files. I read the letter.”

Jihyo stiffens. “If all of that is true, then you know that I would never purposely hurt you.”

“No,” Jeongyeon says, shaking her head. “Because all of that is true I know that you would.”

“Everything,” Jihyo shouts, voice ripping itself from her throat, raw and uncontrolled, “everything I’ve ever done has been to protect you! I—” She stops, suddenly, eyes flickering over Jeongyeon’s shoulder to look at the only other person in the room. Jihyo’s eyes meet hers, shuttered. “This isn’t the time for this.”

Jihyo’s words thunder through her veins, raise scores of questions as they sink in. They’re questions she knows Jihyo will never answer. She wants to press, wants to find out what exactly Jihyo means, but she knows the look on the other woman’s face. “It never is, with you, Jihyo,” Jeongyeon says, suddenly unable to carry forward with her anger. “And if you’ve been trying to protect me, you’ve done a shitty job at it. I never asked you to protect me. I—” Her voice falters. Jihyo blurs again, and Jeongyeon loses the words she was going to say.

She turns so that she doesn’t have to look at Jihyo or Nayeon. Her mind is buzzing, a ceaseless clattering that refuses to let her think clearly. Everything is too much, too present. Too impossible to ignore. She has no reprieve from her emotions, still no ability to freeze time. There’s a weight on her chest that feels like it will never leave, and she can no longer bear to be around Nayeon or Jihyo.

She manages to make it out of the room before the first tear falls.

~

Nayeon struggles to swallow in the heavy silence that settles in the room. Anger thrums beneath her veins, but with every second that passes, more and more of it is eroded by a mix of hurt and confusion. She wants to speak, wants to chase after Jeongyeon and ask her what just happened.

She wants to curl up in her bed and stare at the wall. One minute things were fine. And the next, the next—Jeongyeon’s eyes had been so harsh.

“You sure you’d really trust her with your life?” Nayeon tries for a joke, but when she turns and sees the look on Jihyo’s face, she instantly regrets it. 

She’s seen several new expressions on Jihyo’s face thanks to Jeongyeon, but none of them have been quite like this. Jihyo is shattered, pain written so clearly on her face that Nayeon is immediately concerned. “Jihyo?”

Jihyo looks at her, eyes liquid. Her brows are drawn tight. The corner of her lip quivers. Nayeon aches to reach out and smooth the hurt away, but Jihyo speaks before she can move. “You’re still under the effects of the truth serum. Both of you. This means that your emotions were uninhibited and hard to filter.” 

It’s not a question, sounds more like Jihyo reassuring herself, but Nayeon answers anyway. “Yes.”

Jihyo inhales, spine straightening. Her entire body curls around her exhale, and Nayeon doesn’t miss the way her hands shake. “Excuse me, Nayeon. I need to go.”

“Jihyo—”

“We’ll talk later. Take the rest of the day off. Please.” Almost pleading. 

“Okay,” Nayeon whispers.

And then Jihyo is gone, and Nayeon is alone. 

She stands there for several minutes, staring at the door and trying to gather herself. Her mind is scattered, thoughts a tangled mess at her feet. 

Things had been fine, and then they weren’t.

She knows she has plenty to think about, but the sheer weight of what had just happened holds her in place, prevents her from moving forward. The ferocity of her own feelings had surprised her, a sudden desire to lash out wrenching her from her chair. She knew there were things about Jeongyeon that annoyed her, but the venom in her own voice had seemed to well up from deep inside her, flowing out from places she didn’t know existed. 

Then there was the exchange between Jeongyeon and Jihyo, which. Well. Jeongyeon had gone from scowling and snarling to on the verge of tears in almost an instant, and Jihyo had fared no better. She knew that whatever had transpired between them resulted in a lot of anger, but the quiet devastation had been new. 

And.

_Who can say how many innocents you’ve killed?_

Nayeon swallows, pushes the words as far into the back of her mind as she can. She desperately wishes she could access her powers right now, fly through the halls of the Agency until she was outside, able to shoot off into the sky and feel nothing but the wind slipping over her skin. She could forget, just for a few minutes. She could fly towards the sun, let herself pretend that she could touch it if she just flew far enough, feel its warmth on her fingertips. 

But she can’t fly, and there’s no wind, no sun, just the cold press of the concrete wall against her back as she slides to the floor, hands trembling. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Until next time.


	8. Deployment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where they finally stop the training montage. Talks are had. Blows are exchanged. Someone pets a cat.

_Thursday_

The vines twine together, spiraling towers with shadows that stretch across the room. She sends one hurtling towards the window, stops it just before contact. The second carves patterns in the air, ripples with life as flowers bloom and wither along its length. 

It’s as close to meditating as she can get, watching these extensions of herself move with such purpose and control. It allows her to let go of the words circling her brain, lessens her awareness of the empty anger in her chest. She finds peace in surrendering to knowledge she can only face when the sun is still yet new, pale yellows and simmering oranges slipping through the blinds. Here, morning just beginning to trickle in, she allows herself to acknowledge that she is alone, will always be a hair’s breadth away from reaching towards someone who deems her unworthy. 

That is simply how the universe has deemed it to be. She has friends, yes, but there’s an inherent distance she hasn’t been able to bring herself to cross. It’s a quiet solitude, one she covers with bright smiles and careless laughter. It affords her a protection she doesn’t quite know how to live without, these days. 

The sunlight stretches further into her room, and Nayeon observes the dust that floats in its beams, watches as it descends ever so delicately. She wills her thoughts to follow the same trajectory and lets herself fall back into an uneasy slumber.

//

Despite the fact that restless hours she spends staring at the TV and playing with Lego do nothing to soothe her, Jeongyeon sleeps well that night. She doesn’t dream of the Agency, doesn’t see Jihyo in her dreams, doesn’t hear voices taunting her from impenetrable darkness. She wakes to the familiar feeling of her cat trying to suffocate her, and she manages to let the morning pass in a smooth haze.

She dresses for training and decides that she’ll skip the cafeteria this morning. She makes due with some cereal in her cabinet and tells herself that she’s just feeling lazy this morning. There’s no other reason she’s avoiding the cafeteria. 

(There is a feeling that lingers, just out of sight. She tells herself everything is fine, but there are lightning quick moments where she feels horribly, horribly hollow. She opens her fridge to grab orange juice and zones out for so long that the refrigerator begins beeping at her.)

It’s the click of her door closing behind her that finally snaps her into the present, an audible reminder of who she’s on her way to see. 

All at once, Jeongyeon feels like she’s been wrung out to dry, anxiety and irritation swirling around her at the thought of having to see Nayeon and Jihyo. She doesn’t know what she’s going to do when she sees them again, if she’ll be able to swallow down the inevitable awkwardness and move on. She knows what Jihyo will do: drag them into a room and lecture them about poor conduct. Then she and Nayeon will both nod, adopting false sincerity. Nothing will change. 

They’re three fixed points in the universe, each with their own center of gravity. Jihyo will try to work past that, and she’ll fail, inevitably. Jeongyeon has tried with Jihyo, only to falter and bristle under unwelcoming eyes. With Nayeon, she had trusted some baseless voice in her head that insisted Nayeon was different, only to be reminded of reality with easy laughter.

Conflict between herself and Nayeon was probably inevitable, yes, but Jeongyeon isn’t proud of how it happened, or that it even happened at all. If they were going to hash it out, Jeongyeon would’ve preferred to: one, not have been under the influence of truth serum and two, have had access to her powers. Some of her word choices were—Jeongyeon pushes her tongue against the point of one of her molars, half-welcoming the pain—a bit harsher than they would’ve been otherwise. She believed everything she said, but her now-bewildering faith in a phantom part of Nayeon had blinded her to her more severe thoughts right up until the moment the rage had swept her away.

She takes a moment, just one, to indulge in the fantasy of skipping training today and letting Jihyo and Nayeon laugh about murder uninterrupted. With a heavy sigh, she reaches back and wraps her fingers around the doorknob. It would be so easy. 

She doesn’t want to deal with Jihyo and Nayeon teaming up against her. She doesn’t want to question herself. She doesn’t need to think any more about what she said and what she believes. She knows she’s right, and she has no patience for being convinced otherwise.

She turns around. 

There’s a note taped to her front door. She reads it, and then she reads it two more times.

_Agent Yoo,_

_Due to unforeseen circumstances, training has been canceled for the rest of the week. We shall resume training on Monday._

_Regards,_   
_Park Jihyo_   
_T.W.I.C.E. Division 3, Junior Director_

Of course. The note crumples in Jeongyeon’s fist. Her mind splits between three futures. She could go back into her apartment and let the rest of the week slip from her fingertips, hopefully letting time paint a thin veneer of peace over their “team” come Monday. 

She could let the sudden anger crashing through her chest drive her to Jihyo’s office, past the door, past whatever banal protest Jihyo would raise. She could call Jihyo a coward. She could—Jeongyeon shakes her head, dismisses that idea and the anger coating it. She could imagine any number of monotone responses Jihyo would give, and she doesn’t have it in her to be rejected today. 

(_Everything_, Jihyo had shouted, voice raw and bordering on desperate. A stark contrast to the cold formality of this notice.)

Finally, she could go the gym and do training of her own, try and push away the empty feeling in her chest by losing herself in routine for a few hours.

Each option holds it’s own appeal, but in the end, Jeongyeon takes the route of least resistance. With a twist of her wrist, she’s stepping through the door of her apartment and kicking off her shoes on her way to the couch. She falls into her couch and grabs the blanket sitting on the cushions, tugging it over herself and resolving to think of nothing at all. 

//

Approximately 16 hours after her hopes for a tolerable mission partner blow up in her face, Nayeon strides out of her apartment, determined to face Jeongyeon with apathy. She turns to double check her lock and pauses when she sees a note on her door. 

_Nayeon,_

_I had a few meetings sprung on me, so we’re going to need to cancel training for the rest of the week. I’ll see you on Monday._

_-Jihyo_

She traces her a fingertip over the sign-off and allows herself a second to feel pity for Jihyo having been caught in the middle of her charges’ blowup. 

She mentally flicks through her options before deciding on the only one that will save her from a day of restlessness. The public training gyms never close, and it will be no effort at all to tag along with some of her friends. Easy. 

Breakfast becomes the highlight of her morning when she steps into the cafeteria and hears familiar yet long absent laughter. With all that had been going on during the last week, Nayeon had completely forgotten that Seulgi was due to come back from her post-mission leave. The morning passes by in a flurry of questions and the sharing of stories. No one even bats an eye when Nayeon continues on with the group to the standard training gym instead of peeling off like she normally would. 

It’s not until they’ve all made their way in and out of the locker room that Jennie and Yeri both ask, and Nayeon just waves them off with a laugh, claiming she had wanted something different today. It’s not a lie, not really. She did want something different than having to spend the majority of her day with Jeongyeon (even thinking her name is enough to make Nayeon’s hands twitch), and Jihyo gave her the perfect out.

She’s frustrated, and confused, and a little bit more hurt than she’s willing to admit. She needs to keep busy. She wants to fight.

She voices her desire, and Seulgi steps forward immediately, apparently eager to show off her skills after several months in the field. Nayeon doesn’t fight back a smile at her eagerness, and they quickly fall into a bout.

It’s different. That’s the first coherent thought that pops in Nayeon’s head during their fight. The way Seulgi moves is almost predictable. Sharp and dangerous, yes, but predictable. It’s the same form that all agents follow, the same fighting style that they’re trained in once they join the program. It’s the same one Nayeon herself had found so much success with, but she had never before been so aware of just how simply everything flows together. She tries not too listen to hard to the voice in the back over her head that whispers about what might have changed her perspective over the last two months. 

Seulgi fights well, had always been one of the people coming the closest to giving Nayeon a true challenge, and Nayeon knows she’ll leave this sparring match with one or two new bruises. 

Nayeon fights back a laugh at the way Seulgi’s eyes widen as she ducks under Nayeon’s punch. Nayeon effortlessly anticipates the uppercut that follows and deflects it by ramming the heel of her left palm into Seulgi’s wrist. The other woman winces, caught off guard just long enough for Nayeon to bring back her right hand and catch Seulgi’s wrist, twisting it and pushing with her left hand to force Seulgi to the ground. She attempts to strike out with a kick to Nayeon’s shin, but Nayeon steps smoothly to the side to avoid it, twisting her opponent’s arm further as she does so. 

“Yield,” Seulgi calls out, and Nayeon is momentarily taken aback. She hadn’t expected such an easy submission, and she once again pushes away the whisper of Jeongyeon’s name. 

She extends her hand to help Seulgi up, smirking when her hand is batted away with a scowl. “I’ve been on a mission for the last three months, combat on the daily. How the hell are you managing to take me down faster than you did last time?”

Another voice cuts in, and Nayeon once more becomes aware of the world outside of their sparring mat. “Oh, did I forget to mention that Nayeon has been receiving special training from Director Park?” Nayeon can hear the smirk in Yeri’s voice. “This is the first time she’s trained with us in two months.”

Seulgi furrows her brow as she rolls out her shoulders. “Wait, seriously?” She gives Nayeon a curious look. “What for? I haven’t seen any new mission briefs go out that involve both of you.”

Before Nayeon can answer, an arm settles heavily around her shoulders. “Top secret,” Jennie answers. “It’s just Nayeon, Director Park, and the scientist that we have yet to see in the flesh.”

Nayeon shrugs Jennie’s arm off of her shoulders just a little too forcefully. “I didn’t come here to talk about Agent Yoo. Can we just get back to sparring?” Her tone is sharp, noticeably so, and there’s a brief silence.

“Yoo Jeongyeon,” Seulgi asks. There’s familiarity in her tone, the first of it’s kind whenever Nayeon had mentioned Jeongyeon to anyone. 

“You know her?”

“I do. I didn’t know she was a field agent, though,” Seulgi answers, smiling. “She’s really nice. She ran some tests for me before. I would sometimes see her walking around the courtyard.”

“Ah.” Nayeon tries, for a moment, to conjure up a question for Seulgi. She tries to pull up any of the burning curiosity she’d feel about Jeongyeon and her time here at the Agency, but she comes up short. She tries to think of anything she wants to know about Jeongyeon, but there’s nothing. 

She realizes that the three of them are looking at her, waiting. Nayeon shakes her head, waves away their glances. “Can we just get back to sparring, please?”

“No thank you,” Jennie laughs out. “I’m sticking to sparring with people who don’t immediately kick my ass. Whatever the hell you’ve been doing for the last two months has made you even more annoying to fight.”

Yeri snorts in agreement, and Nayeon watches them wander off with a roll of her eyes. 

“Whatever,” she mutters. She turns to face Seulgi again. “Again?”

“You fight differently than you used to,” Seulgi says in lieu of answering her question. She takes a step closer, and Nayeon just raises an eyebrow. “More fluid. It’s interesting. Has Jihyo been teaching you a different fighting style?”

Nayeon shakes her head, the whisper becomes a roar. “No,” Nayeon insists. The thought of Jeongyeon having shaped her in any way makes her skin crawl. “It doesn’t matter. Do you want to spar or not?” 

Seulgi just laughs. “Bring it on.”

//

Jeongyeon lounges the day away, moving from the couch only when she really has to, making herself quick meals to quell the growling of her stomach. She feels restless and unsettled, but there’s nothing she wants to do other than try and ignore her own existence. She ignores the feeling in her chest with reruns of old dramas and the company of a furry friend. 

Jeongyeon laughs when Lego headbutts her for the third time in the last minute. She presses back against the motion, running her hands along her cat’s sides and receiving a meow for her efforts. She knows what Lego wants: it’s past 6pm, and because she’d be home all day, Jeongyeon hadn’t put dry food in her bowl today to tide Lego over. Despite the fact that her center of gravity seems to have reoriented itself so that Jeongyeon feels a physical ache at the thought of leaving the couch, she knows she’ll get up in a moment and do her duty. 

The slightest twitch in the upward direction sends Lego rocketing off of her and scampering into the kitchen. It makes things lighter, just for a moment. Jeongyeon smiles, laughs when Lego twines between her legs as she opens the can of food. The moment she finishes putting the food in the bowl and sets in on the floor, her legs are free of their furry burden. 

Jeongyeon squats down and rests her head in her palms, chuckling at the noises Lego makes as she eats. It fills her with a contentment she hasn’t felt in what feels like weeks. She rocks back on her heels, letting herself bask in the moment.

Someone knocks on her door. 

Jeongyeon stiffens, head whipping around to look at the door. Lego pushes her face deeper into her food bowl. For several long, heart-thumping seconds, Jeongyeon stares at the door in shock at having heard someone knock. She doesn’t get surprise visitors.

The last person to stop by her apartment had been Nayeon, and she had a feeling the other woman wouldn’t willingly put herself in her presence for quite a while. 

She waits a moment, and then it comes again: A firm knock followed by two quick ones. 

She’s halfway to the door when she realizes that she has a way to see who’s knocking. With a scowl, she activates her vision. She wishes she could be surprised when she sees Jihyo standing on the other side of the door, but, truthfully, there’s only three people that might have reason to come to her apartment. With Nayeon not in the running, there was a 50% chance of it being Jihyo. The lack of surprise doesn’t stop her breath from catching in her throat, though, and she approaches the door at an even more hesitant pace.

She watches Jihyo, sees the way her head perks up as Jeongyeon’s footsteps get closer. She can see the way Jihyo fidgets with whatever she’s holding in her hand. Jeongyeon closes her eyes when she wraps her hand around the doorknob, bracing herself for whatever comes after this. It could be something as simple as Jihyo telling her that training is actually happening tomorrow, but the way Jihyo is carrying herself has Jeongyeon on edge. 

Jihyo is nervous.

Jeongyeon reminds herself that she has access to her powers now. She has control. Jeongyeon pulls open the door and resolves to make it through this conversation unaffected. “Hi.”

Jihyo is staring at her, spine straight and eyes firm.

“Hi.” Jihyo’s greeting is accompanied by a stiff nod, and Jeongyeon waits for her to continue. “I was hoping I could speak with you regarding what happened yesterday.” Her tone is as formal as ever. Jeongyeon doesn’t know why she expected something different.

Jihyo is Jihyo is— 

“Director Park, if you—”

“Jihyo.” The word leaves Jihyo’s mouth in a rush of air, breath releasing the tension that had caged her just moments ago.

“What,” Jeongyeon asks, blinking several times. 

“Please just call me Jihyo.” It’s not an order; it’s a request, and it’s one Jeongyeon hasn’t heard before. Jihyo looks down at the floor before looking up to meet Jeongyeon’s eyes again. “Jihyo,” she repeats, as if it is an answer to the questions on Jeongyeon’s lips. “I don’t want to stand on formality when we talk about this.”

Jeongyeon furrows her brow, asking the obvious question. “This what?”

Jihyo let’s out a dry laugh. “Everything, I guess.” A beat passes, and then she jolts slightly, holding up the foil-wrapped plate in her hands. “I brought sweets, just like you taught me. Brownies.” The corner of Jihyo’s mouth twists at the memory, and Jeongyeon’s stomach follows suit. That had been over a decade ago. She didn’t know Jihyo had even remembered their old traditions. 

“I don’t remember having killed someone earlier today,” Jeongyeon says, words slow. Her mind screams at her as she takes a step backwards to allow Jihyo access into her apartment. Memories of previous discussions blur together, each another addition to the long list of reasons she should turn Jihyo away. But even through the haze of their past, Jeongyeon can only focus on the Jihyo that stands before her in jeans and a too-large sweatshirt that she’s pretty sure belongs to Tzuyu.

It reminds her of Jihyo that night in the kitchen, the way it had set her on edge. 

Jihyo steps forward, eyes a little more hopeful. “I’ve learned over the years that sweets are good for more than just post-elimination woes.”

Jeongyeon takes another step back, and then another, and then she’s turning and walking into her kitchen, needing a just a second where she’s not looking at Jihyo.

Moments later, the sound of socked feet on the floor makes its way towards her. She stands over her stove, tracing her eyes over its surface and cataloging every spot and crumb she can see. If her eyes are here, they don’t have to be on Jihyo. 

She hears Jihyo set the plate down on the counter and exhale. “Jeongyeon—”

“Why are you here,” Jeongyeon interrupts, turning around to face Jihyo head on. Her stomach quivers with nerves the moment she locks eyes with Jihyo.

Jihyo smiles, nerves visibly brimming to the surface once more. “You’ve already asked me that.”

“You haven’t answered.” Jeongyeon takes a step closer, palms coming to rest on the countertop. Jihyo is here, willingly, wanting to talk about something. Jeongyeon isn’t sure what it means, but she knows she can either fruitlessly try and avoid it or face it head on and stand her ground. A thought comes to her, bitterness trailing in its wake. “If you’re here to get me to apologize to Nayeon, just leave.”

Hurt flashes across Jihyo’s face, and it lingers in a way she had never before allowed it to. Jihyo shakes her head. “This has nothing to do with Nayeon. Is what I want to talk about really so hard to figure out?”

Jeongyeon laughs, the sound tangling in her throat. “I don’t know, Jihyo. You’ve never wanted to actually talk to me about something that’s not a mission before.”

“That’s not true.” Jihyo insists. “I’ve tried talking to you before. You just,” Jihyo trails off. Her fingers twist around the cuff of her sweatshirt. “You never looked like you wanted to speak with me. I thought I was doing what you wanted.”

“You’ve been doing a lot of assuming on my part,” Jeongyeon spits. “Did you ever think of maybe asking what I wanted?”

“You wouldn’t have answered me if I had,” Jihyo shoots back, hands tightening knuckle-white on the counter. “I could feel it, you know? You freezing me mid-sentence? The number of times I thought maybe we were getting somewhere and you—you just stopped me in my tracks.”

Jeongyeon stills. “I didn’t know you could sense that,” she says, swallowing. “I didn’t know anyone could.”

“Well I’m not just anyone, am I,” Jihyo asks with a hollow laugh. “It shouldn’t surprise you. You can tell when I’m trying to read your mind.”

Despite Jihyo’s declaration, Jeongyeon finds it in herself to be surprised. She knows her powers well, and she _knows_ that her ability to freeze time is undetectable. Someone in the cafeteria or on missions would’ve noticed by now. As for her last point. “That took us years,” Jeongyeon says. “We used to lay in our beds at night and just stare at each other from across the room for an hour.”

A dry smile. “To be fair, half the time one of us would fall asleep thirty minutes in.”

Nostalgia stirs in Jeongyeon’s chest, threatens to pull her back into a warm memory. “That’s really not the point here.”

The smile drops from Jihyo’s face, resigned sadness taking it’s place. “No, it’s not. The point is that you’ve frozen me so many times that I learned what it felt like, that split second of displacement. The first year I kept my distance because you never acknowledged the letter, and you didn’t exactly go out of your way to talk to me either.”

A rebuttal jumps to Jeongyeon’s lips, something about trying to deal with the fact that she was right back at the place she ran from, words about how she had fought so hard at a chance for something different only to have to bring herself back so they wouldn’t track her down. She wants to talk about Jihyo’s reaction to her return, the formality where the letter had conditioned Jeongyeon to expect a friendly welcome.

But Jihyo is talking to her, truly talking for the first time in what feels like a lifetime, and Jeongyeon can’t find any words worth saying aloud.

Jihyo takes a breath, slips steel into her spine, and unravels. “You were my best friend for 10 years. After our that day on the playground”—there’s a faint wistfulness to Jihyo’s words, a small quirk to her lips, and it awakens an ache so deep and fierce that Jeongyeon forgets to breathe for a moment—“everything changed, but you were there. You were the only person I wanted with me, the only reason I didn’t shatter under pressure when I was a kid. You were there the first time I fully shifted, the first time I got a scar from training. The first time I killed.”

_("I feel like a monster.” Hands, small, fragile, twist into bedsheets. “I don’t—” tears spot cotton clutched between fingers._

_The force of a hug pulls her off the bed, accompanied by words steadily pressed into the crown of her head like a prayer. “You’re not a monster, Jihyo. You saved my life. You’re okay. You’ll be okay.)_

Jihyo swallows, and her voice cracks. “All I wanted was to keep you with me. They tried sending you away once, but I said I’d run away. Then, when you were 15, they gave me an ultimatum. I—”

Yesterday’s clash had drained the fight out of her, and the look on Jihyo’s face has dashed any chance of it coming back. She knows the next part of the story, could explain Jihyo’s motivations to herself, but she stays quiet. Watches. Listens. 

“I either helped them out or they were going to take you away. I didn’t know where. I didn’t know for exactly what. I just knew it was away from me.” Jihyo sighs, runs her fingers through her hair. “I’d like to say that I hesitated, but I didn’t. Then, well, you know what happened next.”

“How did you stop them from coming after me?” It’s a question that had plagued Jeongyeon more and more over the years. When she had first escaped, she had chalked it up to the Agency never really having cared much in the first place, but if they had gone through all the trouble to see what effect her kiss had, why was she left alone for so long?

“Ah.” Jihyo shifts her weight. Jeongyeon notices that the ends of her hair are beginning to take on a purple hue. “I gave them an ultimatum. I’d stay as long as they left you alone. That was the deal."

"That's why you were so upset when I came back." The realization thunders through Jeongyeon, and she wonders when exactly she became so willfully committed to ignoring the possibility of Jihyo being on her side. 

"Got it in one," Jihyo says. She chuckles, mirthless. "It was something I used to hold on to, especially in the years immediately after you left. It was enough to know you were okay. Made the guilt a bit easier to handle.”

Jeongyeon braces her elbows against the countertop, feeling slightly faint. “I only came back because I became a Triune. They were going to come after me one way or another.”

“I know,” Jihyo says, “but you showed up before I even knew you were a Triune. I really thought I was never going to see you again, Jeongyeon, and then you showed up. It was clear you weren’t happy to see me. You threw the bracelets in my face. I figured that was the closest to acknowledgment of the letter I’d get.”

The letter. The goddamn letter. Jeongyeon hangs her head, scoffs. “Funny. I was waiting for you to acknowledge it first.”

Silence settles between them, and Jeongyeon can’t even begin to think of what to say next. She’s thought of countless things to say when she finally confronted Jihyo about their past, but not a single one of them comes to mind in this moment. 

Jihyo breaks the silence first. “I’m sorry, Jeongyeon. For what I did to you. I should’ve talked to you, or fought back, or—”

Jeongyeon interrupts. “No. I mean, yes, you should’ve told me, but you were just a child, Jihyo. What the hell were you supposed to do?”

Jihyo frowns, clearly surprised. “You don’t blame me for that?”

“No more than I do myself. Don’t get me wrong,” Jeongyeon says, fiddling with the aluminum foil. “I hated you for the first year or two, but with space, I realized that you probably didn’t really have a choice.”

“Then why—” Jihyo stops, brows furrowed. She opens her mouth. Closes it. Jeongyeon can see her flicking through the words she wants to use next, and all Jeongyeon can do is wait. “You don’t like me.” Jihyo’s voice is quiet but firm. “I assumed it was because of that. I thought that’s why you never mentioned the letter, or why you look like your teeth are being pulled every time we’re alone together.”

“You do everything they tell you to, like a puppet,” Jeongyeon says after a long moment, deciding to set free every thought she had previously held back. “It makes sense, in a way, but I hate it. How do I trust someone that bends to the Agency’s every will?”

Jihyo gives her a tremulous smile. “Is that really how you think of me?”

“Is there any reason I should think otherwise?”

Lego leaps onto the counter, immediately makes her way over to Jihyo, who welcomes her with gentle hands.

“You were never supposed to be a scientist,” Jihyo says, after a moment, as if that’s an answer. 

Jeongyeon watches Jihyo run a finger down Lego’s nose. “You still made me do missions.”

“It was the best compromise I could get, Jeongyeon. I don’t think you understand just how badly they want to make use of your time abilities.”

_Sometimes you won’t even look at me_, is what Jeongyeon wants to say next, but then she remembers what Jihyo said earlier. Jihyo thought Jeongyeon wanted nothing to do with her. Apparently.

She moves past her first impulse and accidentally stumbles into something deeper. Her voice is far too quiet when she speaks, the hurt threaded through her words far too loud. “You wouldn’t even let me call us friends when Tzuyu asked.”

Jihyo stops petting Lego, not flinching when Lego playfully nips at her fingers in protest. Her eyes are wide, skeptical. “Is that really what you would’ve done?”

Jeongyeon pulls back, crossing her arms. “I don’t know. Maybe. Probably. Something like that.” 

There is a pause, one long enough for Lego to burrow her way into Jihyo’s arms, making Jeongyeon jealous of her cat’s complete lack of knowledge about interpersonal conflict. 

“I was afraid,” Jihyo admits eventually, eyes focused on the cat purring in her arms. “Afraid of you saying no. There was no reason for you to say yes, and I knew that. But I really didn’t want to hear you say no.” Jihyo’s eyes flit up to meet Jeongyeon’s briefly, tight smile on her lips. “It would’ve hurt to finally hear you confirm what I knew all those years.”

Jihyo is telling the truth.

There’s no other way to read the tone of her voice, read the way she’s all but curling into herself around Lego, looking everywhere but at Jeongyeon. It’s the same way Jihyo has always delivered vulnerable truths, and something in Jeongyeon’s chest loosens. 

Jihyo is telling the truth, and that means Jeongyeon had it wrong.

She hides herself behind an armor crafted specifically to Jihyo, chains forged in fires stoked by their tumultuous past and twisted present. There are words twined around the chains, memories of glances Jihyo had given her, times Jihyo had walked by her without a single glance. Righteousness allowed her to don it, to move through the world so certain that it was Jihyo she needed protection from. 

Jihyo isn’t perfect, nor is she innocent of having made some harsh decisions at the hand of the Agency. 

But she cares.

There is one last question on Jeongyeon’s lips. “The things you said in the letter?”

“I meant every word,” Jihyo says. She straightens up. “I’m sorry, Jeongyeon. Truly. For what happened all those years ago and for everything that’s happened since you came back.”

Later, Jeongyeon knows she will replay these words over and over again in her head, marvel at the fact that they were actually spoken aloud. But for now, she nods and offers Jihyo the steadiest smile she can muster. “Me too.” She swallows. Speaks again. “I’m sorry I left you.”

“It’s okay,” Jihyo says. Lego slips out of her arms and back onto the counter. “You came back.”

Jeongyeon scoffs out a laugh. “Not like I had much of a choice,” she says. “I did come back so easily because of that letter, though,” she adds at the frown pulling at Jihyo’s lips. “Whatever Sana did to you, it at least helped me.”

Jihyo lets out a breath. “Yeah, well, that’s good, at least.”

A silence falls, Jihyo clearly lost in thought and Jeongyeon trying desperately to not lose herself in the maelstrom of emotions brewing in her chest. Briefly, she considers stopping time, but the knowledge that Jihyo would know has her hesitating where she normally wouldn’t. The silence carries on, and right as it becomes almost unbearable, Jihyo speaks.

“Where exactly do we go from here?”

“I honestly don’t know,” Jeongyeon answers. “You're still director. You're still going to make decisions I don't agree with. I have a lot of years being mad and hurt, and so do you.”

“I know. I never said we didn’t.”

Familiar anger lances ever so briefly through Jeongyeon’s chest at Jihyo’s tone, but it melts when she realizes that she needs to stop assuming the worst about Jihyo if she wants any sort of positive future to their relationship. She tries something different. “We’ll figure it out, I guess, but first I’d like to try these brownies.”

The shift in tone is immediate. Jihyo laughs, loud and clear, and the storm clouds clear for now. It’s easy enough, in the moment, for Jeongyeon to reach towards a brownie and take a bite, making a noise of delight at the taste. 

Jihyo laughs again, this time at the crumbs that scatter on the counter, and all Jeongyeon feels is the hope that comes with new beginnings. 

_Friday_

Nayeon has been trained by some of the top agents in the world, gone on multinational missions as part of an elite squad. Her reflexes are sharpened to an almost invisible point, aided by her almost constant awareness of her surroundings. 

And it is for those exact reasons that she feels hot shame flood her cheeks when she fails to properly register a greeting and runs straight into Jihyo, knocking her phone out of her hands. She hadn’t expected to see Jihyo for at least another two days, so even as she scrambles to grab the other woman’s phone of the ground, she feels a bit of shock.

“Here,” Nayeon says sheepishly, holding the phone out to Jihyo. “Sorry about that.”

Jihyo shakes her head with a chuckle as she takes the phone. “It’s fine, Nayeon. Where are you headed this morning?”

“The gym.” She continues at Jihyo’s raised eyebrow. “Decided to train with some friends.”

“Never one for a vacation, huh?”

“Hey now, I love a good vacation,” Nayeon insists, crossing her arms. “I just couldn’t sit inside all day thinking about whatever the fuck happened on Wednesday.”

Jihyo deflates, enough for Nayeon to regret mentioning what had happened. Despite all of that words that had been exchanged between her and Jeongyeon, what she felt the worst about was the fact that Jihyo got caught in the crossfire. Nayeon didn’t care about Jeongyeon, not really, but Jihyo did. It was clear that Jeongyeon’s words had had quite the effect on her, and Nayeon had a feeling that the main reason training had been canceled was so that Jihyo herself could take the time to get her head on straight.

“About that,” Jihyo sighs. “I’m sorry, Nayeon. What happened on Wednesday never should’ve happened, and I’ll take steps to make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

“You’re not the one who should be apologizing, Jihyo. We both know that neither of us were the ones to start flying off the handle.”

Jihyo, defying expectation, smiles. It’s a quiet thing, a bit strained around the edges, but there’s just enough humor there to throw Nayeon off guard. “Be that as it may, I’m overseeing both of you, and I frankly should’ve seen this coming a mile away. You and I joke about those things because it’s our way of dealing with them. Jeongyeon wears her guilt much differently than you or I.”

“Jeongyeon shouldn’t have any guilt to carry, should she,” Nayeon asks. “She hasn’t done a mission, hasn’t killed anyone. That’s what lets her ride around on her high horse all day calling me a murderer.”

A pause. Jihyo’s fingers tap aimlessly against her phone, and Nayeon waits for an answer. Something is off about Jeongyeon’s past, but she doesn’t really know what. She knows enough to know that Jeongyeon has likely been on at least one mission at one point or another, and she knows enough to know that Jihyo and Jeongyeon’s histories are so intertwined that Jihyo would profess to doing everything she could to protect Jeongyeon. 

These pieces connect, somehow, and the shadowed smile Jihyo sends her as she answers her question confirms it for what must be the tenth time. “There’s more in life to be guilty about than murder, Nayeon. You know that. I know that.”

“Doesn’t change the fact that Jeongyeon completely lost her shit at me.”

Jihyo’s expression shifts into something more serious. “It doesn’t. Come Monday, we’ll have a discussion about how both of you can best move forward.” Nayeon opens her mouth, but Jihyo cuts her off, answering the unspoken question. “Yes, we need to talk about it. Letting this sit unspoken will only lead to more problems down the line.” 

“Fine,” Nayeon grumbles, “but don’t expect me to apologize first.”

Jihyo laughs. “I’d be surprised if either of you apologized at all.”

//

“…get over it and be friends. There’s no point in holding on to all of this anger from forever ago.”

Jeongyeon lets out a frustrated sigh, sprawling backwards onto her bed with her phone cradled against her cheek. “I can’t just ‘get over it’, Chae.”

“I think you can but you refuse to.” There’s an almost irritating assuredness to Chaeyoung’s voice, the very thing that both leads Jeongyeon to seeking advice from Chaeyoung and then ignoring it in turn. She had always been just a bit on the bold side of brash, reinforced by a drive to simply be a kind and good presence in the world. Jeongyeon loves that about her, she really does, but it doesn’t stop Chaeyoung’s advice from often being so simple it’s useless.

“Why the hell would I refuse to get over something that’s caused me so much shit?”

“Well,” Chaeyoung begins, the sound of air rushing by her making her voice a bit harder to hear, “you spend so much of your life holding onto this grudge or pain or whatever, and now you finally can let go of it but you won’t. Because you’re afraid that it means those years you spent being hurt and bitter were for nothing.”

“I—” Jeongyeon’s protest dies on her lips as Chaeyoung’s words properly process. “That’s…” It was more complicated than that. That’s what Jeongyeon wanted to say, but she could see the entirety of the conversation unraveling before her. She would offer up that protest. Chaeyoung would counter her and say that it wasn’t. Jeongyeon would ask why, and they’d end up right where they are now. 

Chaeyoung’s answer was too easy, too simple. She had spent years and years of her life torn up by what had occurred between her and Jihyo, and any previous efforts to simply let go had been foiled the minute she laid eyes on Jihyo again. Could things really be that simple?

“You know I’m right,” Chaeyoung teases. Jeongyeon can picture her perfectly, wrapped in her black and purple speed suit, goggles over her eyes and a grin on her face as she casually moves at the speed of sound. “Listen, you know I don’t know the full scope of what happened between you two, but the future is vast, dude. Don’t let your past drag you down.”

Jeongyeon sighs, presses deeper into her mattress. “I’ll try.”

“That’s all I ask. Also, I’m a couple minutes from a drop site, so I gotta go. Ring me when you find out where you’re deploying next, yeah? It’s been too long since we’ve hung out.”

“Will do, and thanks for the talk. Later.” Hanging up, Jeongyeon drops her phone on the mattress and beginning to mull over Chaeyoung’s words. Processing her anger and hurt and the myriad of other things she had felt towards Jihyo over the years seemed like a near-constant process. She had made peace, and then said peace had been blown to smithereens the moment her third power manifested. 

Jeongyeon lets out a heavy sigh, rolling to her feet. If she's going to think this out, she’d need to take a walk. At the end of the day, she thinks as she pulls on her shoes, she either tries to move forward with Jihyo or she lets herself cling to the past. 

She walks aimlessly, taking hallways and paths she knows are generally empty, and it isn’t until she sees Tzuyu walking down the hallway towards her that she comes across another person. They great each other happily, a grin coming to Jeongyeon’s face when Tzuyu visibly brightens upon seeing her.

The conversation is easy and simple, Tzuyu updating Jeongyeon on the progress of the cell coating serum. It pushes away the buzzing in Jeongyeon’s brain, relaxes her even as Tzuyu talks about accelerated testing and glycoproteins. The topic switches eventually, meandering through Tzuyu’s efforts at making her own bread and Lego’s latest efforts at breaking into the cat treats.

Jeongyeon doesn’t realize where they’ve walked until Tzuyu is fishing her keys out of her pocket. 

“Jihyo is inside,” Tzuyu says, smiling and fully unaware of the knots her words had just tied in Jeongyeon’s stomach. “Do you want to come in and say hi? I know you had the last two days off.”

“Sorry, but I should probably get back home.” Jeongyeon doesn’t miss the slight narrowing of Tzuyu’s eyes, and she tries to move past it. “Did Jihyo tell you why we didn’t train?” Jeongyeon shifts in place, resiting the urge to run her fingers through her hair.

Tzuyu shakes her head. “No. She’s been spending almost all of the last two days in her office, though. I assumed it was just a sudden work problem.”

A question pops into Jeongyeon’s head, distracting her from her traitorously racing heart. “How much does Jihyo tell you about what she does?”

Tzuyu turns, facing Jeongyeon head on, curious smile on her lips. Her hand drops from the doorknob. “She tells me what she can. Enough for me to know that she makes more stressful decisions in one day than I’ve ever made in my life.” Tzuyu pauses, fingers fiddling with her keys. “Enough to know that Jihyo has a lot of power over a lot of people.”

“Does it bother you?”

Tzuyu doesn’t hesitate, and Jeongyeon appreciates the bluntness. “No.”

“How?”

“I love Jihyo.” Tzuyu shrugs gently, unburdened by the declaration. It will never fail to amaze Jeongyeon how easily Tzuyu and Jihyo fall together. “I know she’s a good person at heart, and I believe in her. Believe that she’s doing the right thing and the best she can.”

A smile tugs at Jeongyeon’s lips. “That easy, huh?”

Tzuyu mirrors her expression. “If you let it be.”

_Saturday_

Nayeon rolls to her feet and lurches towards her closet, refusing to linger in bed even a moment longer. The last two days had been good, the last two nights plagued by one stressful dream after the other had not been. She knows why it’s happening, but she can’t fathom why it’ been bothering her so much.

What was it about Jeongyeon that made her judgment sting that much harsher than others before her? 

She dons her training uniform and makes her way to the cafeteria, determined to get a solid day of training in, even if it is a Saturday. Staying busy was the best way for her to work through her anger and hurt, even if it meant not getting her preferred 12 hours of sleep on the weekends. 

One more day. One more day of hard training to quell the unease in her chest, and then she’d let herself rest. She’s pretty confident that, by Monday, she could revert back to the distant way she had used to engage with Jeongyeon. 

Jeongyeon seems to refuse to try and understand her, Nayeon muses as she grabs a tray. There were many ways Jeongyeon could’ve expressed discomfort with the jokes: a simple request to stop, a gently phrased question, even a very loud cough and eyebrow raise could’ve sufficed. 

She sits down at an empty table, briefly taking in the lack of people in the cafeteria. It wasn’t surprising; no one ever really got up before 10 on the weekends around here. It’s nice, but she knows she won’t linger for long. Quiet during a meal was the perfect recipe for Nayeon to get lost in her own thoughts, and that’s the very last thing she wants right now. 

The plan is simple. She’ll finish her breakfast, go on a run, and then train until she’s exhausted herself to the point that she can think only of showering and going to sleep.

Easy. Low Stress. Foolproof.

//

By the time Saturday morning arrives, Jeongyeon is all but ready to crawl out of her skin, body humming with pent up energy. Emotional processing is well and good, and the break Jihyo had given had allowed her to get her head on straight. But still. Her hands itch to do something, wrap around some weights or curl into a fist and strike a bag. Just something. 

This entire thing is a complicated, tangled mess, one that she hadn’t started, but one that she had pulled out of the shadows and into the light. She wants to close her eyes and imagine that she could just walk out of the Agency and things would be okay, but she can’t bring herself to. It’s a lie too large for her to swallow, even for a moment.

Instead, she pulls on her sneakers and heads out to go satisfy the buzzing underneath her skin. 

//

Jeongyeon stiffens when she hears the door to the gym open. The punching bag completes it’s swing, bumps into her chest. She can only hope it’s Jihyo passing through to grab something, and that she’ll conveniently miss Jeongyeon training in the corner. 

She knows they reached a new type of truce, but she doesn’t quite have it in her to deal with Jihyo on what she expected to be a solitary morning. 

She stands still as the footsteps approach her, tries her best to remain motionless. But then she remembers that she can literally freeze time. She rolls her eyes at herself, and right as she’s about to implement a localized time bubble, someone speaks, dashing her chances of a clean getaway.

“You do know that it’s a Saturday, don’t you?” Nayeon’s voice is completely neutral, and Jeongyeon does her best to not flinch. 

“I do, actually. I learned how to read a calendar when I was five,” Jeongyeon answers, keeping her eyes trained on the bright red of the punching bag. “I wanted to train. I’ve already been here for an hour or so. I can leave.”

She begins moving towards her bag, angling her steps so that she can avoid looking at Nayeon. 

“You’re just going to leave?” Nayeon’s irritated, and it fails to spark even an ember of anger in Jeongyeon. She deeply wishes it did, wishes she could tap back into the rage that had so clearly driven her against Nayeon the other day. It had been all consuming, living no room for doubt, no space for guilt to fester in.

She’s not proud of how she acted, even if she does think there was a root of truth to everything she said. It was harsh and scathing and not how she wanted to conduct herself. Worst of all was the hurt look she can so clearly remember flashing across Nayeon’s face. Jeongyeon’s anger had obviously been unexpected, her words even more so. 

Jeongyeon’s body carries her history, from the small knife-training scars that litter her palms to the burn scar on her shoulder from her first solo mission to the jagged line on her knee from tripping over a rock in high school. Most of her wounds are visible, raised lines that can be, and have been, mapped out by curious and caring fingertips. There are other wounds though, ones that bleed and scab over in the recesses of her mind, tucked away and better left forgotten. They’re old insecurities, faded memories she can no longer bring herself to think about, facts about this reality she prefers to ignore. Nayeon’s words had reach into those places, torn open old wounds in a way that Jeongyeon couldn’t ignore.

The last couple days had been testament to that, spent mostly in a contemplative solitude that was frustrating in its failure to reach a solid conclusion. She was righteous in her fury, but hesitant outside of it. She knew the Agency was heartless, knew each agent played a key role in propagating it. 

She had thought she had known that Jihyo saw her as just a pawn, but even that belief had been recently challenged. There were things she had refused to examine because they clashed with truths she had been living by for years. 

Nayeon stands behind her, waiting, and Jeongyeon is ultimately helpless to do anything other than turn around and face her head on. She could leave, could easily freeze Nayeon and slip away, but she doesn’t want that nearly as much as she inexplicably wants to see this confrontation out until its end. 

“I’m sor—”

“Don’t.” Nayeon’s voice is soft but firm. “Don’t apologize if you don’t mean it.”

“I wasn’t going to—” Jeongyeon’s protest dies on her lips. She knows it’s pointless. 

“Whatever,” Nayeon scoffs. “Either get out or get ready to get your ass kicked. I’ll give you ten seconds to think it over.” There’s a fire to Nayeon’s words, a red-hot edge that makes it clear that Nayeon’s anger has not dulled with time.

Jeongyeon only needs as long as it takes for her brain to process Nayeon’s words. Her head is clouded, a whirling mess that’s clogging her chest, making it hard to breathe. What Nayeon is offering is an easy out, even if she’s part of the reason Jeongyeon’s head is such a mess.

Jeongyeon doesn’t even say anything. She just lunges forward with a roundhouse punch, unsurprised when Nayeon blocks it. She feels out of sync with herself, but every smack of Nayeon’s skin against her own, every bruise she gets, is a reminder to stay grounded. 

What their spar ends up becoming can only be described as scrapping. It’s clear that they’re both slightly off, sloppier and wilder than usual, but they match each other blow for blow.

Nayeon sweeps Jeongyeon to the mat, but Jeongyeon recovers quickly enough to throw an elbow at the back of Nayeon’s knee in a way that she knows causes temporary numbness. Nayeon stumbles, dropping to a knee, and, as Jeongyeon lunges forward for a grapple, Nayeon’s foot lashes out. 

Jeongyeon’s world explodes in a flash of mind-numbing white.

~

The pain she knows Jeongyeon is feeling as her heel makes contact with her shin is almost enough to make Nayeon wince. Almost. It’s a pain point for Jeongyeon, one she had talked about at length during one of their many walks back to their apartments. 

Nayeon had avoided using this knowledge to her advantage. Until now, that is. 

Jeongyeon immediately drops to the ground with a wordless yell, hands clutched around the spot Nayeon's heel had just driven in to. Nayeon feels an electrical current dance over her skin, and she immediately goes after Jeongyeon, aware that she has only a split second to stop her from freezing time and ruining Nayeon's advantage.

The best she can manage, with one leg half-numb and the other smarting from contact with Jeongyeon's shin bone, is best described as a tackle. It's graceless and a tad desperate, but it gets the job done. She's gotten better at accepting a loss to Jeongyeon over time, but after what happened on Wednesday, she refuses to let Jeongyeon think she's better than her for even a second. 

Jeongyeon lets out a breath as her back hits the mat, and Nayeon feels the electricity along her skin dissipate. She rears back, firmly planting her knees on either side of Jeongyeon. She pauses, just for a moment, to revel in the feeling of victory she expects to come from the look of shock on Jeongyeon's face and the tears of sudden pain in the corner of her eyes. 

It doesn't come, not quite. Something else claws at her gut, dull and distant. 

She pushes it away to focus on driving her palm into Jeongyeon’s shoulder, but, quicker than she can react, Jeongyeon is twisting below her. The hips beneath hers raise off the mat with enough force and speed to briefly buck her upwards, just enough time and room for Jeongyeon to pull her feet up and place them on Nayeon’s stomach. 

And then she’s flying, flipped over Jeongyeon’s head by an infuriatingly well executed throw. She has just enough time to tense her muscles before slamming into the mat to prevent her breath from escaping her. Jeongyeon moves swiftly, limbs falling around Nayeon in a way that prevents her from using the same counter. 

Hands wrap around her elbows, forcing her arms to stay at her side, and Nayeon quickly weighs her options. At this point, the best she can pull off is a headbutt, but it would be hard to do that in a way that doesn’t injure one or both of them seriously. A kick to the shin is one thing, giving herself a concussion or breaking Jeongyeon’s nose is a step too far. Though—Nayeon remembers the disgust in Jeongyeon’s eyes as she had looked at her—maybe it would be worth the repercussions.

Their healers could heal almost any non-fatal injury almost instantly, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t considered impolite to break someone’s nose. 

The fingers digging into her elbow are beginning to hurt, and Nayeon lets her head fall onto the mat, waiting for Jeongyeon to call for her surrender. She knows that she’s lost, but she’s not going to say it first. 

Jeongyeon doesn’t move, just stares down at Nayeon as if she’s waiting for something, but Nayeon has nothing to give. There are words in the back of her throat: a snarky dismissal or harsh taunt, but all she can bring herself to do is breathe through the moment. 

For a dozen or so beats of Nayeon’s racing heart, the only sound in the gym is that of their labored breaths. Nayeon is painfully aware of her own pulse, the way it beats against Jeongyeon’s grip. She watches a bead of sweat start at Jeongyeon’s temple, trace it’s way down the curve of her face until it slips down her neck. And then her eyes return to Jeongyeon’s, because maybe there she’ll find the answers to the formless question now swirling in her chest.

Jeongyeon shifts above her suddenly, mouth opening and closing before she speaks. “I didn’t mean everything I said to you.”

Nayeon tenses immediately. “Can you be more specific?” Her words are stiff, cold even through her slightly heavy breathing. “What didn’t you mean? The part where you basically called me a heartless murderer or the part where you talked about me having no free will?”

Jeongyeon’s lips thin. “I had a reason,” she fires back. She leans down closer, face now only a few inches away from Nayeon’s and looking more and more like a suitable target for a headbutt. Before Nayeon can come to a decision on that matter, Jeongyeon huffs out a breath, pushing herself off of Nayeon and rolling into a sitting position. Nayeon doesn’t move, too taken by the sudden movement and the throbbing of her now freed arms. 

She can see Jeongyeon where she sits, fingers in her hair and knees pulled up to her chest. It’s strange. Nayeon sits up slowly, shaking out her arms and wondering where exactly this goes next. She doesn’t need to see Jeongyeon’s future to know she has more to say. 

If they’re going to argue again, so be it. At least Jihyo isn’t around to get caught in the crossfire. 

“You were mocking someone’s death.” The words are soft. Jeongyeon drops her hands, looks directly at her. 

Nayeon scoffs. “He had done terrible things. You’re better off saving your sympathy for someone who deserves it.”

“Do you actually know that or did some faceless suit tell you that?”

“I’m not having this argument with you again!” Nayeon digs her fingers into the foam mat. “Okay? I get it. We’ve had the same goddamn discussion time and again, and we always end up here: you judging the hell out of me and acting like your morals are pristine. Well you know what? Fuck you, Jeongyeon!” She realizes, suddenly, that she’s standing, glaring down at Jeongyeon with the weight of all the hurt and indignation in her chest. “It must be nice going through life believing you’re perfect.”  
  
Jeongyeon lurches to her feet. “I _never_ said I was perfect. Is it really so crazy to you that I’m bothered by you not regretting killing people?”

Another ‘fuck you’ jumps to Nayeon’s lips, but the result of not being under the effects of truth serum is that she can restrain her baser emotional reactions. “That’s not what I said.”

Jeongyeon takes a step closer. Nayeon crosses her arms. “Don’t bullshit me,” Jeongyeon spits. “You said—”

“I said I don’t regret any of my kills.” She remembers Jeongyeon on that day. Remembers how clearly she could read the curiosity on her face. How clear her distaste was after Nayeon had answered her question. It hadn’t burned then, hadn’t set off any sort of warning sign, but clearly it should have.

Jeongyeon says nothing, just lets out a scoff and shakes her head. She turns, to take a step back or turn away, Nayeon doesn’t know, because her hand is reaching out to wrap around Jeongyeon’s wrist before she can think twice. 

“I don’t like killing.” She feels the erratic beat of Jeongyeon’s pulse even through the cotton of her glove. She watches surprised eyes dart down to the spot where they’re touching and back up again. “I don’t regret any of my kills because I believe the information I acted on was solid, but I do regret the fact that I’ve had to kill at all.” Nayeon knows every name, remembers every final thing someone has ever said to her. “Every kill is easier than the last, but living with the knowledge that I have killed only gets harder.” Nayeon’s grip tightens. She can hear the pleading in her own voice. She needs Jeongyeon to understand. “I’ve destroyed families, taken away friends, lovers, siblings. I regret that, out of all the things in the world I could excel at, taking away people’s lives ended up being the most useful.”

Nayeon lets her hand drop from Jeongyeon’s wrist, her words taking the last of her energy out of her. Jeongyeon can take it or leave it. She won’t compromise for someone who refuses to see a side other than her own. 

Jeongyeon looks at her for a long moment, and Nayeon can see the gears in her head turning. Her eyes flit around Nayeon’s face, not pausing long enough for Nayeon to try and get a read on her. She shifts slightly, trying not to let her nerves surge.

Jeongyeon’s jaw sets, a decision clearly made. 

“The first time I came to the Agency,” Jeongyeon says, voice low and steady, “I was eight. I had kissed someone, and it gave them more than one power. The Agency wanted to study me.” Jeongyeon’s eyes drift to the ceiling, but not before Nayeon sees how distant they are. Her chest begins to hurt, a pinched feeling that unfurls until it reaches her stomach, settling into something cold and heavy. “So they took me away. I was here for eight years. Then I left.”

_Eight years old. Eight years._ “I—” Nayeon tries to muster any sort of response, but her attempt is more of a shaky exhale than anything. 

Jeongyeon’s hand glides over her own arm, settling around her waist, a clear barrier between her and Nayeon. Jeongyeon carries on, undisturbed by Nayeon’s attempt at speech. “I’ve experienced firsthand what the Agency will make a child do, what they’ll teach. My x-ray vision wasn’t always deadly.” A wry smile. The feeling in her chest intensifies. “I was 16 before I had a shot at a normal life, and, as you can tell, I never quite finished adjusting.”

Nayeon sees it now, the guilt Jihyo had spoken of. Jeongyeon wears it for the world to see. It’s the way her fingers tangle in the fabric of her shirt, the weight that curves her shoulders as she speaks. Nayeon embraces her guilt, tries to live brightly to drown it out. Jeongyeon sinks into hers.

“They took—You were here for eight years?”

Jeongyeon’s jaw clenches and releases with a noticeable tremble. The white of the scar along her jaw stands out in stark relief to her flushed skin. There is a distance between them that Nayeon cannot bring herself to cross, one made all the more prominent by Jeongyeon taking a step back and swallowing. 

“Eight long and also very quick years.”

The pressure in her chest has grown again, pulsing up her throat and prickling at her eyes at the thought of a child being subjected to the type of training she was. Of a child learning to kill and having to live with that. 

“Are there other children here?” All it would take is one word from Jeongyeon’s lips. One yes for Nayeon to fly straight to Jihyo’s office and demand change. One yes and set of directions for Nayeon to rush to wherever the children are.

“No.” Jeongyeon’s tone leaves no room for doubt. “I checked when I got here, and I checked old records. The only children they ever trained were myself and my friend. She was even younger than I was.”

Jihyo.

The last puzzle piece slips into place, but with it comes the knowledge that she had been working with an extremely limited field of view. Jihyo had arrived at the Agency when she was very young, having seemingly been given three or four powers at once by an unnamed person. The same unnamed person that featured in several stories about old missions of Jihyo’s she had heard over the years. 

She had never before given much thought to the knowledge that Jihyo had been just a child when she first arrived at the Agency. Jihyo had never painted it as something that happened by force, never spoke poorly of the Agency for it, but hearing Jeongyeon speak of their joint past with such palpable hurt and anger makes Nayeon wonder if Jihyo only speaks that way because she never had the chance to learn anything else.

“The first person Jihyo ever kissed gave her three powers.”

A tight lipped smile. “So they did, and as far as I’m aware, that identity of that person has been wiped from the Agency’s database.” It’s a giant flashing stop sign, and, for once, Nayeon chooses to obey it.

There’s a lot to think about. Questions she knows she’s eventually going to have to ask for her own peace of mind. She wants to ask about Jihyo, ask how they went from growing up together to barely being able to be in the same room without snapping. She wants to ask about the nightmares, if they’re a result of Agency work. She wants to ask these things, but she knows now isn’t the time. Jeongyeon looks torn between wanting to flee and wanting to melt into the floor, and Nayeon herself will need time to sort this all out. 

There’s one last thing she needs to make clear.

“Don’t assume that everything is forgiven after this,” Nayeon says, taking a step back and clearing her throat. “A fucked up childhood doesn’t justify you accusing me of being a heartless monster.”

Jeongyeon’s gaze sharpens, fist falling to her side. “I never called you a monster. I tried to apologize. You didn’t let me.”

“I don’t want false apologies.” Nayeon crosses her arms. “When—If you apologize, I’d want it to be because you’re actually sorry, not because you feel like it’s something you should do.”

Jeongyeon’s disbelieving laugh pierces the air, an agitated hand pushing its way through already mussed hair. “I heard what you said about killing, alright? I get it. You’re just a tool for the Agency, fulfilling your role. It’s not your life’s passion.”

Nayeon can’t say she feels foolish for having had her hopes up, because any hope she may have mustered was dashed the moment Jeongyeon interrupted her and Jihyo to start that fight. No, the hope that she had carried is shriveled, well on it’s way to dust. And yet, somewhere in the ruins, she feels one last hidden spark of hope flicker out. “I’m not _just_ a tool. I’m not just anything.”

Jeongyeon, with a bravado that Nayeon finds shocking, rolls her eyes. “You know that’s not what I meant! The Agency manipulated you into killing. No one—”

“I came here of my own free will. I made the decisions I made of my own free will. I didn’t get manipulated—”

“Did you hear anything I said?” Jeongyeon shakes her head, shoulders slumping. Her voice becomes more of a breath than anything, and Nayeon’s heart twists, a leaf in the wind. “You heard what I said. I thought you… Nevermind.” 

“No.” Nayeon steps forward, stopping short of grabbing Jeongyeon’s wrist yet again. “No. Listen. What happened to you was horrible, Jeongyeon. I mean it. I really do. I get why you recoil from anything Agency related, but I need you to understand that I don’t. The Agency helped me, and I’ve never had anything but goodwill towards them. We’ll see how that holds up moving forward”—her stomach lurches again. _Eight._—”, but when I was on my elimination missions I was fully making the decision to commit. I didn’t know the Agency was training child soldiers when I agreed to do what I did. If you’re actually ever going to mean an apology, you need to accept that.”

“Well,” Jeongyeon begins, sending her a wry smile, “looks like you’re never getting that apology then. It’ll be a cold day in hell before I believe in the Agency enough to blindly accept their actions.”

“Fine with me.” Nayeon shrugs, trying not to betray the unease she feels. “I don’t need your apology, though I do hope we can at least get back to tolerating each other.”

“So, what? Just ignore our obvious problems with each other?”

“We’re not ignoring them. We’ve fought about them twice now. They are what they are. We are who we are. We either deal with it or we might as well just cancel this mission.”

“Fine.”

The seconds grow long between them, twisting and taking on a life of their own until Nayeon is unsure if Jeongyeon is glaring at her or about to start tearing up. They’ve talked it out. Mostly. They’ve reached an accord. Mostly. Nayeon has said everything that needs saying. 

Mostly.

“I’m sorry,” Nayeon blurts out, hand once again hovering uselessly between them. “I’m so sorry that happened to you. You were just a kid, magical power giver or not. Someone should've protected you.”

Jeongyeon breaths in, a sharp and ragged thing, and Nayeon watches as the weight on her shoulders seems to lessen little by little. “Thank you.” Jeongyeon straightens up fully, small smile on her lips. “Thank you,” Jeongyeon repeats with a nod, as if it’s such a simple thing.

And maybe it could be, Nayeon muses as she lifts the hand lingering between them and extends it for a handshake. There are miles of difference between them, an already terribly convoluted past for two people who met not even three months ago. Harsh words, misunderstandings, fundamental differences, and more litter the path they’ve walked. Yet Jeongyeon takes Nayeon’s hand in her grasp, perhaps understanding what Nayeon is offering, even if she herself doesn’t. 

Jeongyeon pumps their hands once, twice, and Nayeon is reminded of their very first handshake. The inevitability of their linked futures becoming clear to her for the first time. She knows more now, has a broader scope of Jeongyeon as a person that is equal parts baffling and infuriating. 

Nayeon pulls away, and Jeongyeon follows suit. 

Jeongyeon clears her throat, shifting on her feet. “Well, now that we’ve figured that out, I’ll get out of your hair so you can have the gym for yourself. Our spar served as a warm-up, I think.”

Despite herself, the corner of Nayeon’s mouth twitches. “So it did. See you Monday?”

“See you Monday.”

_Monday_

It’s hard for Jeongyeon to hold back a chuckle at the way Jihyo’s eyes are darting between her and Nayeon as they all settle into their seats. She can’t blame her in the slightest for her obvious hesitance. The last time all three of them were in the same room, things didn’t exactly go to plan. 

In addition, Jihyo won’t quite meet her eyes, which is new. She’s used to lack of eye contact when they get into one of their spats, not when they’re all sitting silently in one of countless conference rooms in the Agency. Again, Jeongyeon knows the likely cause for this; she can’t deny that she’s feeling a slight bit of discomfort herself.

She has, regrettably and completely by accident, chosen the seat that has her sitting across from both Nayeon and Jihyo, which means that she can see both of them shooting glances at her out of her peripheral as she tries to distract herself by watching the hands on the clock. 

Tick.

Nayeon shifts in her seat.

Tick.

Jihyo clears her throat, sets a folder down on the table and starts rifling through it.

Tick. Tick.

Jeongyeon keeps her eyes on the clock, eyes beginning to strain slightly as she resists their instinct to flicker over the motion in front of her. She leans back in her chair, lacing her fingers together and dropping them behind her head.

She breathes as deep as she can without it being too obvious.

Tick.

Nayeon’s hands land on the table with a thud. The sudden loud noise sends Jeongyeon rocking backwards, her stomach lurching as she tips towards the ground. Her legs kick out in an attempt to stabilize herself, but the initial motion is too powerful to stop.

Jeongyeon’s back knocks into the chair now suspended in mid-air, briefly leaving her breathless, but much better than the alternative of slamming her head in to the ground in front of her coworkers. She clambers out of the chair, careful to not trip over herself. She unfreezes the chair and sets it upright, slipping back into her seat and assuming her previous position before releasing the time bubble.

Something strange happens when time reorients itself. Jihyo and Nayeon’s expressions, which had been caught in the “looking away” stage of their Glancing At Jeongyeon Every Three Seconds Routine, immediately shift. Both of their gazes zero in on her, and Jihyo speaks before she can offer so much as an innocent smile. 

“I thought we agreed to stop the unnecessary freezing of time?” Jihyo raises an eyebrow at her, tone dry.

“It was very necessary,” Jeongyeon protests, crossing her arms. “I was going to fall!”

“Fall,” Nayeon questions, leaning in slightly. “Fall off of what?”

“I was leaning—” Jeongyeon stops at the smirk beginning to develop on Nayeon’s lips. “It doesn’t matter. Can we get this thing started, please? I have places to be.”

Jihyo snaps into action, thankfully ignoring Nayeon’s disbelieving snort. “Yes, of course.” She places the papers she had been messing with back into the folder and closes it. “As you both know, we are almost at the deployment stage of this mission. I’ve spoken with the board to get the final release I need for this mission. You’re leaving Wednesday.”

“This Wednesday,” Nayeon asks, all traces of earlier teasing gone.

Jihyo nods sharply, and Jeongyeon begins cataloging what she’ll have to do before deployment. It’s not much: get Lego’s international documents in order, say goodbye to Tzuyu, give her plants to Tzuyu, and pay Tzuyu countless muffins in advance for her plant sitting services. Maybe a bit of packing will do her good, but she doesn’t have all that much she’d want to, or be able to, take with her. 

“I’ve arranged your departing flight for 11am on Wednesday morning. You’ll be arriving at Kansai Airport, where a specially selected handler will meet you and show you to your apartment.”

“Special handler?” Jeongyeon is grateful for Nayeon, in the moment. Her brain never quite works fast enough to ask questions during mission debriefs, too caught up in remembering the details.

“I decided against using our regular field team. I meant what I said about the details of this mission being on a need to know basis. Only Tzuyu, myself, and your handler will know where you are, and even your handler won’t be interacting with you much after you’ve gotten settled.” Jihyo pauses, glances at Jeongyeon before continuing to speak. “She’s been an occasional adviser to the Agency on legal matters. She’s familiar with the Triune system, and I know she can be trusted. She’s been in Japan for the last couple years, so she knows the area well.”

Jeongyeon’s heart skips a beat. Japan. She had expected something a bit more far flung, but she wouldn’t complain. She knew Japan well after a handful of missions her and Jihyo had carried out when they were younger. Something about the description of the handler rings familiar, but she pushes it aside in favor of focusing on the debriefing. 

“And the mission itself?” 

Jeongyeon’s eyes settle on Nayeon, taking in the stiffness of her posture and the small frown on her lips. No excitement. No hesitation. Just singular, unerring focus. She’d expect nothing less from Nayeon in mission mode. 

Jihyo folds her fingers together. “During one of the more recent raids on X’s labs, we were able to read the make and model on one of the machines used. We weren’t able to track down a manufacturer. According to the Internet, this machine doesn’t exist.” Jihyo slips a picture out of folder and slides it along the table. 

Her first glimpse of the machine sends shivers crawling over her shoulders and down her back, and it’s all Jeongyeon can do not to visibly wince. As she further takes it in, sees the curves and corners of this machine, the way they form the rough outline of a human body and the way they’re dotted with ports for various wires, the shivers make their way to her stomach, solidifying into a bone-deep revulsion. 

Out of the corner of her eyes, she can see Nayeon having a similar reaction, and it reminds her of the very first time Jihyo had gathered them together. The moment the photo of the ransacked lab had appeared on the screen, Nayeon had frozen in place. Jeongyeon could barely see the curve of her cheek from where she was sitting, but it was enough to see the blood drain from Nayeon’s face. 

She didn’t know what Nayeon’s experience with those labs had been, likely from a mission, but it didn’t matter. She knows what traumatic memories looked like. 

Thankfully, Jihyo speaks right as Nayeon’s gaze begins to grow distant. “Thanks to the past work of some agents and other international intelligence agencies, I’ve been able to identify one of the men rumored to have a hand in manufacturing them.” Jihyo pulls out another picture, placing it on top of the machine. “Nishi Shiego. A developer at a domestic software firm who apparently moonlights as a black market manufacturer. We need to flush out who exactly is providing X with these machines. It’s clear they’d only be used for one purpose, and if we follow his supply lines, we’ll eventually find him. Even if we don’t, we can destroy the things he needs to operate.”

Jeongyeon pulls the picture closing, taking in the man in the photo. He’s of slight build, shaggy haired and bespectacled. He looks like any other working man on the street, but Jeongyeon has long since learned the dangers of judging morals and competency by appearance. “So we hack him. Easy enough.”

Jihyo shakes her head. “Not quite. We need to do all of this without arousing suspicion, and without leaving a single trace behind.”

Jeongyeon feels a spark of indignation. “I can—”

“I know you’re good, Jeongyeon.” Jihyo interrupts, raising a hand to stop further protest, “but we have no idea what this man’s security is like or what files we’d even be looking for. You’ll both be doing recon for a time, and then we’ll move forward with actually acquiring the information. Understood?”

Jeongyeon and Nayeon answer in harmony. “Understood.”

“Good. Now, I’ve prepared a dossier on him for both of you to review, as well as the details of what exactly you’ll be doing. For this mission, your identities have been prepared by me, but moving forward, Jeongyeon will be handling the needed identification.”

Jeongyeon smiles. “Perfect.”

“You both also remember the rules of deployment, yes?”

Jeongyeon fights back a roll of her eyes. Of course they do. It’s one of the very first things they drill into agents before they go out on a mission. It’s probably for the best that Nayeon answers first; Jeongyeon isn’t sure she could keep the sarcasm out of her tone.

“No revealing your actual identity. Trust no one that isn’t on your team. No first kisses. Reveal one power at most.” Nayeon’s recitation is rote, methodical. She’s clearly had it drilled into her head as much as Jeongyeon had. 

“Good. The setup will be as follows: Preliminary intel indicated that he regularly frequents a coffee shop near his office. We’ll be implanting both of you in order to establish contact. Your handler will inform you of the full scope of your identities once you land, but for now: Jeongyeon, you’re Kang Hye-rim, an associate professor at a nearby university. Nayeon—” For the first time since she began speaking, Jihyo hesitates. It’s quick, a downturn of lips that Jeongyeon would’ve missed if she had been paying less attention. Once she begins speaking, it becomes clear why. “Nayeon you’ll be assuming the identity of Lee Sun-ah, a barista at the cafe.” 

Service job identities were the bane of every undercover Triune’s existence, but to Nayeon’s credit, she only let out a small noise of shock before composing herself. 

“I see.” Nayeon bites out. “How lovely,” she said, her posture screaming the opposite. 

“I’ve also decided that Nayeon will be the senior agent in the field, which brings me to our next point.”

Once again, two pairs of eyes snap to Jeongyeon, both seemingly anticipating some sort of negative reaction. She searches, digs deep within herself to see if she cares if Nayeon is made leader despite Jeongyeon technically, and secretly, having seniority over her. She doesn’t, and there’s really no reason she should.

After a moment of silence, Jihyo’s shoulders lower, and she continues speaking. “I’d like to discuss what happened last week between the three of us. I understand that you two have some fundamentally different beliefs, but we can’t allow that to cause conflict in the way it did last week. I clearly should’ve done more than just lock you two in a room with truth serum. I can’t force you to like each other, but I will offer the resources I have available to make sure an accord is reached. You leave in two days, and I can’t have this mission fumbled because you two can’t stand the sight of each other.”

Nayeon’s eyes meet hers, and Jeongyeon inclines her head in deference. Nayeon’s been doing most of the talking today, no reason to stop now. Nayeon nods sharply, turning to look at Jihyo, who is now watching them with curious eyes. “We’re okay. We talked things out and came to the conclusion that, while we'll probably end up butting heads, we can function together for the sake of the mission.”

Jihyo’s eyebrows raise. “And when exactly did that happen?” She crosses her arms. “I wasn’t expecting either of you to seek the other out for mediation.”

Jeongyeon keeps it brief. “Saturday. Run in in the gym. There was some sparring and then some talking.”

Jihyo’s skepticism is easy to read on her face, and it’s even easier to hear as she speaks. “Ah. I see. And you reached this conclusion how?”

Nayeon smiles widely, and Jeongyeon’s scalp prickles. “By agreeing to do our best by each other on this mission despite the fact that I think Jeongyeon is an emotionally-maladapted hermit in disguise and that Jeongyeon thinks I’m a mind-controlled murderer who fell sway to the Agency’s dastardly manipulations.” It’s a good description all things considered, even if it does make her want to shove Nayeon out of her chair. 

Jihyo’s jaw works for a moment before Jihyo lightly throws her hands up, exasperated. “That sounds like the opposite of fine, but if you can both genuinely tell me that you have confidence moving forward in this mission, I’ll officially sign off on it.” She pauses, eyes scanning over them both. If Jeongyeon didn’t know any better, she’d say Jihyo was skimming their surface thoughts for the truth. Instead, Jihyo’s mouth tightens into a thin line, her voice velvet-coated steel. “Can you confirm that you both feel comfortable moving forward as a team for this mission, Agent Im and Agent Yoo? Any failures brought about by your bickering will not be kindly met.”

Their eyes lock again, the determination and assuredness in Nayeon’s gaze answering Jihyo’s question. This time Jeongyeon speaks, not quite fully pulling her eyes away from Nayeon’s before answering. “We can. It won’t be a problem.”

“Well,” Jihyo sighs, opening up the folder again, “I’m glad to hear that. Now, we have several protocols to go over. If you’ll both take a look at these sheets, I’ve laid out a reference table for things that could occur on this mission. In column 3…”

Jeongyeon sinks into the steady rhythm of Jihyo’s voice as she goes over strategies and reminders for the upcoming mission. This is the first mission in a very long time that she’s looked forward to, and she can only hope that they manage to pull it off despite the rocky start.

_Wednesday_

Jeongyeon makes her way to the cafeteria, humming a bright tune as she walks. Today is the day, finally. By the next morning, they’d already be settled in Japan, testing out their new identities and beginning the ground work that would take X out. 

Her whistling gets a little louder. She might even be able to squeeze in a visit with Dahyun, who had been living in Japan for the last several years. She walks into the cafeteria, making her way through the crowd of frozen Triunes. She searches out Nayeon in the crowd, having sensed her during the freeze. She finds her easily, laughing to herself at the face she’s caught Nayeon in. 

She carries on through the line, swiping some rice and eggs, as well as a goodbye muffin for Tzuyu. The same avoidance routine is repeated again, but this time, halfway through the maze of Triunes something feels off. It’s not an issue with her time bubble, nor is it any sort of physical discomfort. Instead, it’s an itch in her mind, a tug somewhere below her shoulder blades that tells her all is not well. The itch in her mind becomes a voice, wordlessly beginning to shout. She realizes, as she steps around a man she vaguely recognizes, that for the first time in a long time, she’s uncomfortable with striding through a room full of lifeless people.

She’s only seen it for herself once or twice, but she knows that this cafeteria is meant to be bursting with life, filled with the everyday chatter of people. She thinks of Nayeon for the second time that morning, remembers the scathing words that had been thrown at her. The voice in her head takes shapes, takes on a familiar tone and timbre. She knows exactly where Nayeon is in this cafeteria, and that knowledge makes it even harder to get her voice to shut up.

Nayeon would find a way to irritate her, even when frozen mid cough. Jeongyeon closes her eyes and huffs out a breath, annoyed. At Nayeon. At every Triune in this goddamn cafeteria. At the muffin she’s all but flattened in her hand. 

At herself, for the bubble of fear in her throat at even the thought of going back to normal time. 

She shakes her head, ignores the nerves the skitter up her arms and settle below her ribs. She just needs to get to the door and get out of here, and then Nayeon’s barbs will fade away.

She’s about five feet from being out the door, breakfast in hand, when she hesitates for a second time. Once again, she’s painfully aware of every person that surrounds her, uncomfortably aware of the woman sitting twenty feet away. As all of her decisions are when it comes to manipulating time, this one is immediate and seamless. 

She takes a deep breath, and the cafeteria comes to life. Someone’s shoulder bumps into hers, and they carry on with a muttered apology. The noise of the unfrozen Triunes crashes into her ears, and for a moment, Jeongyeon just stands there and takes it in. But then someone else bumps into her, and her stupor is broken. 

She makes her way out of the cafeteria, thankfully able to avoid jostling shoulders and wandering eyes. She heads straight back to her apartment, eating her breakfast as she walks. 

~

Nayeon immediately looks to the doors of the cafeteria, familiar sensation telling her that Jeongyeon had just finished her morning routine. She blinks, reaching up to rub at her eyes when she first realizes that Jeongyeon is still inside the cafeteria. The surprise only doubles when Jeongyeon just stands there, allowing people to move around her at will. A few more seconds pass, ones in which Nayeon is no closer to understanding what she’s seeing, and then Jeongyeon moves again, leaving the cafeteria. 

Nayeon watches the door for a while longer, letting her breakfast cool on her plate. Her hunger is forgotten in favor of staring at the spot Jeongyeon was standing, a tingling at the back of her neck as she thinks thinks about what she just witnessed. 

She could ask Jeongyeon about it later, she supposes. In two hours, they’d be climbing into a van and beginning a long stretch of time in which they’d be stuck together in close quarters.

Nayeon blindly brings a bite of egg to her mouth, not even flinching at the unsatisfying lukewarm temperature. It would be delicate, bringing up what she noticed without accidentally sparking some sort of squabble between them. They had reached an accord, sure, but that didn’t mean there still wasn’t kindling just waiting to be set alight. 

She’d tread carefully for now, but, eventually, she’d ask Jeongyeon if anything in particular had inspired her to finally unfreeze time while she was in the cafeteria. She’d keep it light, limit things to only one or two knowing glances and two unnecessary buffs of her nails. She had missed annoying the shit out of Jeongyeon, so if she could get back to doing that while also further proving her theory of herself always being correct, she’d consider it a win.

//

“Why do you look so down, Im?” Nayeon jostles as Jeongyeon bumps her shoulder into hers. “We’re about to embark on the adventure of a lifetime.”

Nayeon looks away from the window to see a teasing smirk on Jeongyeon’s face. It’s open and inviting, and, for just one second, Nayeon considers telling Jeongyeon that there are three land mines waiting for her in Japan. Three remnants of a past she’s never fully been able to make peace with. She can’t stop counting them.

Momo.

Mina.

Sana.

One, two, three. The names swirl in Nayeon’s mind as she imagines countless possible meetings. What would she say? What would they do? Momo would grin, probably, sweep Nayeon into a hug and demand they catch up immediately. Mina would smile, soft and sweet and just a little hesitant in the face of all the time that had passed between them.

And Sana? Sana would— 

“Nayeon?” The concern in Jeongyeon’s voice and the hand on her shoulder snap her out of her stupor.

“Who?” Her tone is playful, and it’s enough to make Jeongyeon relax, hands coming to rest atop the cat carrier in her lap. Nayeon glances down, unable to hold back a smile at the sight of a very clearly unhappy Lego. 

(The discussion between Jeongyeon and Jihyo about whether or not Lego was coming had been swift, with Jeongyeon refusing to relent and Jihyo giving in after only a minute of discussion. By now, Nayeon would expect nothing less.)

“We haven’t even taken off yet,” Jeongyeon protests, leaning back into her seat. “Technically, our switch doesn’t happen until Japan.”

Nayeon snags one of the magazines in the backrest, beginning to idly flip through the pages. “Never too early to start.”

The plane begins to move down the runway.

“Well,” Jeongyeon drawls, “you are in charge.” Nayeon sees her straighten up out of the corner of her eye, fully lifting her gaze when Jeongyeon’s hand enters her field of vision.

Nayeon raises an eyebrow. “What?”

“Goodbye, Im Nayeon,” Jeongyeon says, lopsided smile on display. “Until next time.”

She knows exactly what’s happening, and can’t help but let out a snort. It’s ridiculous, absolutely so, but she finds herself reaching out anyway, gloved hand fitting easily into Jeongyeon’s. She shakes it. One, two, three. 

There’s an undeniable smile on her face as she speaks, undoubtedly a result of the mission excitement finally hitting her. She forgets, just for a moment, about her fears and lets herself live in this moment. Who knows how many peaceful days they have ahead of them? 

“Goodbye, Yoo Jeongyeon,” she says, releasing Jeongyeon’s hand with a light squeeze. “Until next time.”

Jeongyeon turns and resettles herself in her seat with a light laugh. 

The plane accelerates, and Nayeon can feel it getting closer and closer to liftoff. Lego lets out a meow, claws scratching against the wall of the carrier. She closes her eyes and anticipates the feeling of weightless to come. It always amuses to her, traveling via plane when she herself is capable of flying. She had become used to being in control of her flight over the years, and having that taken out of her hands is as strange as it is oddly exhilarating. 

The sound of engines grows ever louder. She can almost taste the freedom of flight.

Three. Two. One. 

Lift off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Long time no see, which I apologize for. This chapter had a lot of emotional beats that I found very finicky to write, which resulted in a lot of me just ruminating on how best to approach scenes. If you're someone who's been waiting for this to post, you have my utmost gratitude. Please never doubt that, and also here take this: <3 I hope I was able to have you feel justified in your wait!
> 
> Next time: we'll explore this story's version of a coffee shop AU.


	9. Mission #1: The Invisible Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nayeon and Jeongyeon do their best to adjust to their new reality and to each other.

The car stops in front of an off-white house that fails to stand out from all the others on the street. The man that had picked them up at the airport exits the car, and Jeongyeon exchanges a brief glance with Nayeon before doing the same. He doesn’t say anything else, just grabs their suitcases and gestures towards the front door. Then he leaves.

They share another look, this one longer and full of confusion.

Jeongyeon breaks the silence first. “Was that our top secret handler? Because—honestly—not impressed.”

Nayeon scoffs, adjusting her grip on her suitcase. “Yeah, no shit. I think he said a total of two words to us the entire time.”

“Not true,” Jeongyeon says, peering around. “He said ‘need some help’ when we got our suitcases. That’s three.”

Nayeon doesn’t even justify that with a response, joining Jeongyeon in examining the place they’ve been left in front of. It’s remarkably average looking, with a small parking space out front and a walled garden just outside the front door. Nayeon grimaces when she sees a lawnmower sitting underneath a small balcony. It makes her miss the missions where she'd had to impersonate millionaires in high-rise penthouses.

Nayeon heads up the steps first, pausing when she reaches the front door. Jeongyeon comes to a stop next to her, suitcase clattering along the concrete steps. A pitiful meow sounds from the carrier in her hands. “We don’t have keys.”

Nayeon reaches out, wrapping her fingers around the doorknob and twisting. To her surprise, the knob twists and the door begins to give way, but she’s stopped from fully opening it by Jeongyeon’s fingers on her forearm.

“Seriously,” Jeongyeon says. “You’re just going to charge in there?”

Nayeon resists the urge to roll her eyes. “We were lead here by someone who used the passcode! You think Jihyo has orchestrated all of this to lead us into a trap?”

“No, but I do think that we might as well take advantage of the fact that I have x-ray vision to see if anyone is waiting for us inside the house.”

She can’t deny that Jeongyeon has a point, but she also can’t admit it. “You don’t need my permission to do it, do you?”

Jeongyeon scowls but says nothing, and Nayeon watches as her eyes tighten. A second later: “There's someone in there. They’re sitting with their back towards us, but they’re the only person in there.”

Nayeon pushes lightly on the door. “So no kill squad waiting on the other side?”

Jeongyeon scoffs as the door swings open. “You and I both know a kill squad can be just one person.” It’s the type of thing that, a week ago, would’ve chafed against Nayeon, but there’s no bite to Jeongyeon’s words. She lets the comment be and takes a first uncertain step into what she can only assume is their new home.

There’s a hallway in front of her, several doors on the left and one on the right. The walls are an unassuming beige, the floor an equally normal light brown hardwood. Her first steps into the apartment are slow, hurried only by Jeongyeon continually bumping into her shoulders and grumbling. The hallway takes a sharp turn, and Nayeon is greeted with more doors on either side of her. At the end of the hallway, though, she can see that the living space opens up.

She steps into an open kitchen and living room, immediately searching out the person Jeongyeon had mentioned. From this angle, she’s directly facing them. Nayeon barely has time to process the woman’s features (pale skin, silver hair, and a poorly concealed grin) before Jeongyeon is shoving past her and placing Lego’s carrier in her arms.

“Dahyun! Holy shit,” Jeongyeon exclaims. The woman, apparently Jeongyeon's ex, is up and out of her seat just in time for Jeongyeon to barrel into her and sweep her into a hug. All Nayeon can do is watch with equal parts confusion and amusement. She takes a moment to bend down and free Jeongyeon’s cat, watching her dart off down the hall in search of a place to hide.

Nayeon leans against the doorway and begins to understand that this is what Jihyo meant by using a trusted handler. She watches them talk, sees the easy way Jeongyeon’s hands grab at Dahyun’s shoulders, her hair, her wrists. She knows, from the phone call and the conversation that followed, that they’re close, and she easily remembers the bitter taste it had left on her tongue. There’s none of that now, not when it’s clear she’s watching two people who care a lot about each other reunite.

(Later, she knows, later there will be time for envy.)

After several minutes of Jeongyeon’s almost frantic questioning, and Dahyun’s equally excited answers, Jeongyeon seems to remember the context of their meeting. It’s impressive, how quickly she settles back into herself and turns to face Nayeon. To Nayeon’s surprise, she feels Jeongyeon freeze time right as she lifts her hand to gesture in Nayeon’s direction.

“I’ve frozen time so that we can have a proper introduction,” Jeongyeon explains. “Dahyun, this is Im Nayeon aka Lee Sunah. Nayeon, this is Kim Dahyun, aka the reason I can freeze time and also apparently our temporary handler.”

Dahyun takes a half step forward, hand extended. “It’s nice to meet you, Nayeon. I look forward to working with you, and I’m sorry this is probably the last time I’ll be using your real name.”

Nayeon takes Dahyun’s hand, notes the firmness in her handshake. “You too. Jihyo spoke highly of you. Jeongyeon has as well.”

Dahyun looks at Jeongyeon with a playfully raised eyebrow, and Nayeon sees pink bloom on Jeongyeon’s cheeks. “That’s good to hear,” Dahyun says. “I imagine it might come as a surprise that I of all people would be your handler, but I promise you that you’re in good hands. I’ve been working with Jihyo off and on for the last several years, and she reached out to me several weeks ago to loop me into the mission. I have all the intel and supplies I need to get you started.”

Nayeon murmurs her understanding, fighting the urge to roll her eyes at the giant grin on Jeongyeon’s face.

“Jeongyeon, mind unfreezing us? You’re going to have to begin limiting your use of that power as a precaution.”

Jeongyeon nods, and Nayeon feels the flow of time reassert itself.

“Alrighty,” Dahyun says, clapping her hands together and gesturing to the table she had been sitting at, “let’s have a seat and get orientation started.”

What follows is an hour-and-a-half rundown that both has Nayeon’s head spinning and her heart leaping in her chest. Dahyun reiterates information that Jihyo had told them, but this time the details and plans are concrete. She quizzes Nayeon on different coffee drinks, questions Jeongyeon on her future lesson plans, and informs both of them of the latest on Nishi’s daily routine.

It's reassuring, and Nayeon comes to understand that Kim Dahyun is very, very good at her job.

//

Despite her best efforts, Nayeon is unable to fall asleep in her new bed. Too many formless thoughts rush around her head, leaving behind a buzzing that no amount of tossing and turning can clear. The mattress is too firm, not yet broken in, and it grates at Nayeon just enough to leave her screaming internally. She always gets restless the first week of a new mission, and this one will certainly be no exception. She tries her usual tactics: deep breathing, jumping jacks, staring at the ceiling and wishing she could just turn her brain off. None of them help.

It’s for this reason that she finds herself ambling down the hallway towards the living room at 2 in the morning. She doesn’t have any particular goal in mind, but maybe restlessly sprawling on the couch will be more tolerable than doing so in her bed. The unfamiliar layout has her squinting uncertainly into the darkness, and she manages to make it into the open kitchen without any major issues. The blurry outline of the couch is in sight, and Nayeon gets excited about the thought of sinking into the comfort it offers.

She wonders if she should use some of the weights currently sitting in their small basement to break her bed in for her during the day when she’s at work.

The sound of a pen scratching against paper pulls her up short, and Nayeon snaps to wakefulness, immediately reaching out for the numerous plants scattered around the living room. She whips her head around to face the source of the noise, only to falter when she sees a wide-eyed and spectacled Dahyun blinking at her from her seat at the kitchen table.

Nayeon relaxes immediately and disarms herself of the succulents in the living room. Dahyun isn’t a threat. Even disregarding Jihyo’s trust in her and the way Jeongyeon had so readily embraced Dahyun’s presence, the other woman has been nothing but kind and competent. “Sorry,” she says, just a touch sheepish. “I wasn’t really expecting anyone else to be awake.”

Dahyun lets out a small laugh, placing her pen on the table. “I could say the same. Is everything okay?”

Nayeon takes a step closer, blinking into the light provided by a small lamp on the table she hadn’t previously noticed. “It is, Mrs. Kim. Thank you. I just couldn’t sleep.”

Something twists Dahyun’s expression, but her eyes are too slow to pick out exactly what it is. “Just call me Dahyun, please. We really don’t need to stand on formality.”

Nayeon reaches the table, dropping into one of the open chairs. “You are our handler, you know? You do have authority over us.” She lets her head rest in her hands, stifling a yawn and far too tired to sit up straight. Her eyes drift over the papers Dahyun had been working on, taking in and processing the upside down words before she can stop herself. A strange feeling wells in her throat when she realizes that she just interrupted the woman in the middle of preparing her own divorce documents.

“I suppose,” Dahyun agrees, gathering the papers in her hands and straightening them with a sharp knock to the tabletop, “but I’m not an official employee of the Agency so much as a consultant.” Dahyun smiles. “Besides, never in a million years would J—Hyerim. Dang it.” Nayeon stifles a laugh. “Hyerim wouldn’t call me that, and it’s even weirder if only one of you addresses me so formally.”

Nayeon blames three things for what she says next: the restless fatigue that clouds her mind, the easy smile on Dahyun’s lips, and the sudden reminder of the confusion she had felt many hours ago. “It’s really nice that you and Jeong—Hyerim still get along.” Nayeon doesn’t hold back a laugh at her own mistake, and Dahyun matches her.

“I think we’re okay to stop practice once it’s past two in the morning.” Dahyun’s smile softens. “But you’re right. It is. I think it helps that the breakup was mutual, and neither of us was the other’s last great love or anything.” She reaches for a bag Nayeon hadn’t noticed until now, slipping the papers inside. For a moment, Nayeon feels bad about having interrupted her while she was working on something so important, but the look on Dahyun’s face as she straightens up holds no traces of annoyance or discomfort.

So Nayeon keeps talking, words slowed by sleep. “How’d you end up as our handler,” she asks. “You said you had helped out the Agency a few times?”

“I did.” Dahyun folds her hands together on top of the table. “Do you want the long or the abridged version?”

Nayeon shrugs. “Whichever version you’re most comfortable with.”

“I wouldn’t offer an option I’m not comfortable with.” Dahyun’s smile sharpens. “I’ll keep it quick since it’s so late. When I was a kid, I wanted to be two things: a Triune and a judge, each a type of superhero. You know?” Nayeon nods, smiling at the nostalgia in Dahyun’s voice. “When I met Jeongyeon, I was actually studying Korean lit, but after we broke up and I found myself with a pretty valuable power, I started revisiting my superhero dreams. It was silly, honestly, to get so excited about getting one S-class power, but it was enough. I wanted to change the world, and I figured clones would be pretty helpful with that. I switched to the legal track and kept an eye out for my next great love."

Dahyun’s eyes drift across the kitchen, unfocused. The slight downturn of her lips as she finishes her sentence tells Nayeon exactly who Dahyun’s “next great love” was. This time, she stays silent. She wants to know, desperately, how Dahyun and her soulmate fell together and, even more so, how they fell apart, but she won’t dare ask.

Dahyun’s eyes land on her eventually, and that seems to be the prompt Dahyun needs to continue. “I was doing pretty well on the judge thing. I was in law school with a solid resume and GPA. Then I met Haneul.” She pauses, teases her bottom lip with her front teeth. “One day, we kissed, and that was that. Haneul had been a Triune for a couple years at that point. I continued working on my career and he stayed in touch with people from the Agency. From time to time, he’d ask me legal questions on behalf of a friend. Eventually, I had Park Jihyo on my doorstep asking me if I’d like to work on a few cases here or there.”

Nayeon hums. “I imagine there’s never a shortage of work when you’re employed by the government’s military.”

Dahyun raises an eyebrow. “Indeed. Like I said, it was only on occasion, but it was enough for Jihyo to trust that I had a good head on my shoulders.”

“And I’m sure knowing that Jeongyeon would actually listen to you helps,” Nayeon teases, leaning back in her chair. She feels a bit more awake now, more steady. Dahyun nods, conceding Nayeon’s point. A thought pops into Nayeon’s head. “Jeongyeon must not have been happy about you working for the Agency, huh?”

An unreadable smile appears on Dahyun’s lips. “For privacy reasons, I didn’t tell her until she joined the Agency. I thought she’d be excited, but instead she got very quiet. Then upset.”

“Oh.” Dahyun doesn’t know. Of course. “Yeah, she doesn’t really seem to like her bosses.”

“Who does, really?”

Dahyun lets out a small chuckle, and then they both fall quiet. The silence isn’t tense, with Dahyun seemingly content in gazing out the window over the sink into the dark night, but Nayeon slowly begins to feel more and more like she should leave Dahyun be. The other woman had clearly been in here at 2am with a purpose. Nayeon can go be restless in several other rooms.

She stands, taking care to move as quietly as she can. Dahyun’s eyes don’t move. “Goodnight,” Nayeon murmurs. “Thank you for answering my questions.”

Dahyun’s gaze comes back to her, and the smile on her lips doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Of course. Rest well. We have a busy day of training tomorrow.”

Nayeon nods and turns to walk back down the hallway. Right before she opens her door, she’s tempted to turn around and peek into the kitchen to see if Dahyun has gone back to her paperwork, but she resists the impulse and continues on her way to bed.

She tries to settle in to sleep, but her thoughts keep her awake. It’s jarring to see someone actively stepping away from the very thing that’s plagued Nayeon for years. She understands, of course, that Dahyun shouldn’t stay in a relationship that’s no longer healthy and has no chance of becoming such. But… soulmates are supposed to be this infallible thing.

Nayeon has always imagined that, once she finds her soulmate, they won’t leave her. She tries to remind herself of the innumerable soulmate success stories, but all her mind can dwell on is the inevitable. Momo, Mina, and Sana all left her. What’s to say her soulmate wouldn’t do the same?

She never quite manages to fall asleep that night.

//

The next three days with Dahyun pass quickly and slowly all at once. Jeongyeon finds herself drowning in paperwork, shocked by just how much she has to prepare for teaching this class. Basic lesson plans for Critical Listening 1 (A course Jeongyeon had enjoyed taking herself years and years ago.) had been provided to her by Dahyun, but it’s up to her to ingest the plans to the point that she can come off as a competent teacher. To add to the chaos, Dahyun gives her the login information for her university email, and Jeongyeon is horrified to find that she already has 40 unread emails waiting for her.

Nayeon responds to her gasp of horror by laughing, and Jeongyeon makes a mental note to extract revenge later.

Nayeon’s preparation is a world away from Jeongyeon’s and far more amusing to watch. Dahyun’s determined to get Nayeon up to snuff, which means that she spends the day throwing together various coffees and teas at Dahyun’s request.

Dahyun had worked at the campus cafe back when they were in school, and watching her painstakingly explain the difference between a latte and a flat white to Nayeon brings Jeongyeon a rush of fond memories.

Nayeon’s training culminates in a simulation that includes Jeongyeon coming up to their kitchen counter and placing an extremely complicated order. It’s good practice in slipping into their roles, but it’s also a good opportunity for Jeongyeon to make Nayeon suffer. To the other woman’s credit, she barely flinches when Jeongyeon reels off a list of increasingly complicated drinks. She manages to make each one without issue, and Jeongyeon can’t hide her surprise.

And then there’s Dahyun.

Dahyun, their handler. Dahyun who’s apparently far more involved with the Agency than she had ever told Jeongyeon. Dahyun who had taken one look at Jeongyeon during lunch on their second day and smiled so wide that Jeongyeon swore her heart was going to leap out of her chest. Dahyun who she missed even more than she had realized.

Dahyun who only softens late into the night, breaking down against Jeongyeon's shoulder after they finally breach the topic of her marriage. Dahyun is so young, Jeongyeon thinks, gliding her fingers through her hair—far too young to have already found and lost her soulmate.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Dahyun murmurs. “Sorry that I got snot all over your shirt.”

Jeongyeon exhales a laugh, pulling Dahyun closer. “You have nothing to be sorry for. There's nowhere else I'd rather be.”

//

Dahyun leaves on a Sunday, daylight streaming through the open door and making her silver hair look almost white.

“Take care, Jeongyeon.” Dahyun’s voice is gentle, and it only exacerbates the heat behind her eyes. “Look after yourself, alright?”

“I will,” Jeongyeon says, pulling back from their hug. “I’ll call you when I can. Thank you for everything.”

Dahyun nods, affection for Jeongyeon written clearly on her face. “It was my pleasure to be able to help. I have all the faith in you and Nayeon.”

“Thank you,” Jeongyeon says. She hesitates for a second before speaking again. “I’m really glad we got to catch up in person. You know where to find me if you need me, so don’t be a stranger.”

Dahyun huffs out a laugh. “I kind of have to be. Kang Hyerim doesn’t know Kim Dahyun. No outside contact, remember?”

Jeongyeon winces. “Right…” She clicks her tongue. “So, I—”

“Who’d you forget to tell?” Dahyun’s gaze is knowing, and Jeongyeon can’t help but duck her head.

“Well, the entirety of my family. Also Chaeyoung. Could you take care of it,” Jeongyeon asks, mentally wincing at the scoldings she knows she’s going to get once her family and friends learn that she’ll be MIA for the foreseeable future.

“I’ll take care of it.” Dahyun smiles and then hesitates for a moment. Before Jeongyeon can ask if something is wrong, she reaches out, gently skimming her fingers through Jeongyeon’s recently darkened bangs. On their first night, Dahyun had insisted that Jeongyeon dye her hair to black in order to more easily blend in, and Jeongyeon had acquiesced only after several minutes of resistance. “This haircut and coloring reminds me of college. It suits you.”

Jeongyeon murmurs a thank you, well aware that the tenderness in Dahyun’s voice has pushed her tears all the closer to spilling. “Even if we’re not supposed to be in contact, all you have to do is call, all right?”

Dahyun will always have a special place in her heart, and as Dahyun sends her a watery smile of her own, Jeongyeon feels the weight of that fact sit heavy on her chest. She hadn’t ever wanted to love again, but Dahyun had slipped past her defenses so effortlessly that Jeongyeon had no choice but to bend. Dahyun cracked her wide open, and Jeongyeon has never quite been able to seal herself back up again.

She wants nothing but the best for Dahyun, and it’s for that reason that this goodbye is hitting her harder than their previous ones have. She knows Dahyun’s personal life is in upheaval, knows there are court dates and counseling appointments ahead of her that will try their best to break her. Jeongyeon wants to support her every step of the way, but she knows this mission won’t allow for it.

She roughly pulls Dahyun into a hug, trying to impart the strength she knows the other woman will need in the coming months. By the way Dahyun’s fingers grasp at the back of her sweatshirt, Jeongyeon knows she’s doing the same.

“Okay,” Dahyun says, pulling back and clearing her throat. “I should go. Your time field is localized, and I do have a flight to catch.” She wipes at her eyes with the sleeve of her jacket. “I also have to say goodbye to Nayeon, my barista apprentice.”

Jeongyeon laughs and drops the field. Out of the corner of her eye she sees Nayeon shift in place.

Dahyun extends a hand that Nayeon readily takes. “Goodbye, Sunah, and good luck.”

“Thank you,” Nayeon says, tone warm. “I appreciate everything you’ve done for us. Take care.”

Their hands drop, and with a final nod at Jeongyeon, Dahyun steps through the open doorway and disappears down the steps. Jeongyeon watches her until she disappears around the corner.

Nayeon breaks the silence. “I like her.”

Jeongyeon turns, taking in the smile on Nayeon’s face as she looks out the door. “Yeah, she’s pretty great.”

“It makes sense that you two didn’t last,” Nayeon says with a sigh. “She’s clearly far too good for you.”

“Hey,” Jeongyeon protests. “I’m awesome.”

Nayeon smirks. “Whatever you say, Kang. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have coffee drinks to practice. Americano?”

“Please. Three shots?”

“One tall and aggressive Americano for Kang Hyerim coming right up.”

//

Nayeon flinches when something brushes against her leg, and it’s only by sheer luck that she manages to not spill the coffee she’s pouring. She looks down and lets out an unsurprised laugh at what she finds.

Lego twines around her legs, rubbing her head against Nayeon’s calves and purring in a way that can mean only one thing. Nayeon finishes pouring her coffee and then sets the mug down, walking into the hallway and carefully avoiding the cat weaving through her legs to confirm that yes, Jeongyeon’s door is slightly ajar and that yes, Lego must’ve slipped out when she heard Nayeon in the kitchen.

Jeongyeon hasn’t said anything about taking care of Lego except for getting Nayeon’s permission to place her litter box in one of the apartment’s alcoves. In fact, Nayeon has seen very little of her new furry roommate since they moved in. She knows a new place and a relatively new person are a lot to adjust to for anyone, let alone a cat.

On previous days, her and Jeongyeon have woken up at the same time, roused by Dahyun’s voice ringing through the apartment, but today is different. Today’s the first day of their cover jobs, and Nayeon has the lovely pleasure of showing up for work at 6am for training. Jeongyeon, much to her pleasure and Nayeon’s envy, doesn’t have to get to work until 8am.

This means, however, that a certain cat hasn’t already been fed at the time she has been over the last several days. With a sigh and shake of her head, Nayeon grabs a half eaten can of cat food from the fridge and gets to filling Lego’s empty bowl.

Fifteen minutes later, she looks up in surprise at the sound of footsteps. She watches with no small amount of amusement as a bleary-eyed Jeongyeon shuffles into the kitchen, meowing cat in her arms. It isn’t until Jeongyeon goes to open the fridge that Nayeon understands what’s about to happen.

“She already ate.”

Jeongyeon jumps, socked feet slipping against the kitchen tile and pushing her against the fridge, the cat in her arms slipping free. “You scared the shit out of me.” Jeongyeon straightens up, looking down at her still meowing cat and then over to Nayeon. “What do you mean? Did you feed her?”

Nayeon hums an affirmative. “I figured it would make sense seeing as you didn’t have to get up for awhile, but I see now that it just opened up the door for a scam to be run.” She looks at Lego and coos. “You’re a little demon, aren’t you.”

“Indeed she is,” Jeongyeon agrees. “Thank you for feeding her.”

Nayeon waves away the thanks. “No problem. I can take care of it in the mornings if this will be our schedule.” Jeongyeon’s eyebrows shoot up. “What?”

Jeongyeon shakes her head. “Nothing. I just…” Jeongyeon trails off, nails tapping against the fridge door.

Nayeon waits, both curious as to what Jeongyeon is trying to say and feeling like she has a pretty good idea of what it could be. She speaks when it seems like Jeongyeon has reached the end of her sentence. “Just weirded out by the thought of us working together as a team and supporting each other?” She makes sure to keep her tone light and teasing.

“Well it sounds bad when you say it like that!” Jeongyeon crosses her arms and huffs. “You know what I mean. But yes, thank you. I would appreciate it. Hopefully she’ll learn not to wake me up for an attempt at round 2.”

Nayeon takes a sip of her coffee. “We can only hope. For now, go back to bed, Kang. You need to be in top form for your first day of classes.”

Jeongyeon hesitates, jaw twitching like she wants to say something else, but then she nods, muttering a thanks before making her way back down the hall. Nayeon eyes follow her until she disappears around the corner, lips twitching when she sees Lego following after her owner.

//

Nayeon drops into a chair in the break room with a sigh, fighting the urge to slam her head onto the table. It’s more likely than not that this table has never been wiped down, and she refuses to let bacteria-laden laminate get the best of her. The last five days have drained her in ways she didn’t even know she could be drained, from hours on her feet to dealing with braindead customers. She knew this job wouldn’t be a walk in the park, but she hadn’t expected to be quite so sick of everything around her so quickly.

She isn’t ignorant to the fact that this is her first time actually working what most people would consider a “real” job. Her parents encouraged her to avoid a part-time job while in school, pushing her to focus on her studies and spending times with friends. There had been opportunities for internships during her college years, but her focus on an accelerated masters program pushed that possibility away. She had an offer from a great company post-graduation, but any chance of that actually happening had died the moment she admitted to herself that she was in love with Sana.

Despite the fact that Sana had broken her heart and left her at the mercy of the government agency her ex worked for, Nayeon is grateful to her for at least one thing: the ability to brush hands with an asshole customer and see that they were five minutes away from spilling coffee on themselves.

Nayeon fiddles with her phone as she waits for the inevitable end of her break. There’s a few games on her phone, but she finds herself skimming through her contacts and familiarizing herself with the names. There’s about four dozen numbers in there, all but two of them fake. Jeongyeon sits at the top of her contacts list, _Kang Hyreim_ the only contact of hers to be bestowed with a golden star. The second known contact is _Favorite Cousin Hyo <333_, a name that Nayeon can only roll her eyes at. It’s good to know she can get a hold of Jihyo, even if she hopes she’ll never be pushed to the point of needing to speak to her outside of debriefings. She misses her friend—she misses all of her friends— but she knows that limited contact is best.

Her phone vibrates, signaling the end of her break. With a groan, Nayeon staggers to her feet, retying her apron around her waist. It feels akin to tying a cannonball around her feet, the ocean of her demise the crowd of caffeine starved customers waiting outside.

She steps behind the counter, tapping a coworker on the shoulder to let her know it’s time to switch. Nayeon’s barely returned the grateful nod when she notices a man with a face she's spent hours committing to memory step up to the counter. He smiles stiffly at the cashier, and Nayeon curses to herself.

She fishes her phone out of her pocket and sends the first message in Kang Hyerim and Lee Sunah’s text thread.

//

“Now, remember to listen to those pink noise tracks, alright? I know doing homework on the weekends isn’t fun, but you can just throw this on while doing the dishes or taking a walk. If any of you have enhanced hearing, please make sure to listen to these at a low volume to avoid hurting your ears.” Jeongyeon scans her eyes over her classroom, pleased when she sees a couple dozen nods. “Have a good weekend everyone. See you on Monday.”

The volume in the room immediately skyrockets, full of screeching chairs and fresh conversations. Jeongyeon takes it all in with a smile and a small sigh of relief. Teaching isn’t something she had ever trained for, nor is it something she thought she’d ever find herself doing. She knows she’d be absolutely screwed without the lesson plan outlines Dahyun had given her, and she can only mentally thank Jihyo once more for putting her in a class she had the knowledge to teach. The fact that she’s been having a bit of trouble sleeping certainly doesn’t help things, but at least she has the first week out of the way.

When most of the students have filtered out of her classroom, Jeongyeon turns to begin collecting her things. She’s in the process of turning the projector off when she senses someone approaching. She looks up, easy smile coming to her lips when she realizes it’s probably one of her students.

She’s only just barely begun to remember her students' faces, but she knows she hasn’t seen this student before. She would’ve remembered having a student with pink hair. “Hey,” she greets. “How can I help you…” Jeongyeon trails off, well aware that she has no idea what this girl's name could even be.

Thankfully her student seems to take no offense, grinning. “Ito Nayeon,” she says, and it takes everything in Jeongyeon not to flinch back in surprise. Her and Nayeon have shifted to a strict no-real-name policy over the last week, so hearing anyone say the name of her partner-turned-roommate is a shock. There’s a slight tilting of the girl’s head, as if she’s aware of Jeongyeon’s surprise, but it falls away as she keeps speaking. “I’m your TA. I just got added to the class today, so I wanted to introduce myself.”

Jeongyeon blinks, looking at the girl before her with new eyes. She does look a bit older than a typical first-year. “Oh! When I never got an email about a TA assignment, I just assumed I wouldn’t have one for this semester.” She extends her hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Nayeon.” 

She catches herself after saying the name, realizing they’ve been speaking in Korean the entire time. “Are you from Korea?”

New-Nayeon smiles as she takes Jeongyeon’s hand for a quick yet firm shake. “I grew up there. My parents moved to Korea from Japan before I was born. They moved back when I came to college here.”

“Oh, I see. It’s nice to know you’ll be able to understand my Korean when my Japanese fails me.” 

“So I take it you didn’t grow up here,” Nayeon asks.

“You don’t have to flatter me, Ms. Ito.” Jeongyeon tilts her head knowingly. “I’m well aware that my accent is quite noticeable.”

“It’s not that bad,” Nayeon-but-not protests. She continues at Jeongyeon’s skeptical look. “I mean it! But accents aside, I was wondering if you would like to do lunch at the campus sandwich place and review what you’ve taught so far? It’s only been a week, but I feel like I missed a lot. I want to make sure I can do my job properly.”

Jeongyeon nods, pleased at Nayeon Two’s willingness to put effort in. It’s nice to know she’ll have someone to take care of the grading. “I think—” Her phone buzzes in her pocket, a distinct pattern that draws her up short.

This is the first time her Nayeon has texted her, and Jeongyeon can’t help the way her heart jumps. Is Nayeon okay? Did she make contact with the target? Was this just a reminder to buy cat food? A questioning glance from Classroom-Nayeon restarts her mouth. “Sorry. I just remembered that I made lunch plans with my roommate. I’ll send you an email this weekend summarizing what we’ve gone over, and then we can discuss after class on Monday. Does that work?”

Jeongyeon receives a warm smile and nod in return, and that’s all she needs to take her leave. The moment Jeongyeon is out of the classroom, she reads the text.

** _Roomie Sunah :)_ **

_[1:36] my crush just walked in and i am LOSING ITTTTTTTT_

For a moment, she wants to laugh; she really does. There’s something darkly hilarious about them deciding to code their target as Nayeon’s crush, but any amusement is swiftly overtaken by a cocktail of anxiety and adrenaline. This is what they’re here for. The mission can finally begin in earnest.

Game on.

//

Jeongyeon rolls her eyes at the slam of her passenger’s side door. She’s told Nayeon at least half a dozen times over the last week to be less aggressive when leaving the car, but the other woman just throws back an innocent smile and a comment about “getting into character” before walking away. Jeongyeon doesn’t actually care about the state of the car she drives to and from work, but Nayeon could at least display some common decency.

With a heavy sigh, Jeongyeon opens her door and clambers out of the car, unsurprised by what she hears. “—two weeks and we don’t have anything! He just sits there, stares at his laptop—”

“Excuse me,” Jeongyeon mutters, nudging Nayeon out of the way so that she can fit her keys into the lock.

Nayeon doesn’t falter as she steps inside and begins to slip her shoes off, grabbing her gloves from her pocket and slipping them on. “—what type of opening do you take with the human manifestation of a brick wall? I swear to god I’m one soulless glance away from smashing a pastry on that man’s head.”

Jeongyeon drops her keys in the bowl by the door and hums noncommittally, scooping up the cat pawing at her legs and making her way into the kitchen. Nayeon continues, going on about how frustrating it is to watch Jeongyeon sip coffee for two hours while their target sits three tables away from her.

“Thai or Pizza,” Jeongyeon asks, scanning the takeout menus tacked to their fridge. Lego bumps against her jaw, burrowing further into her embrace, and Jeongyeon smiles, cooing down at her least annoying roommate.

“Thai. We did pizza last week and it sucked.” Nayeon drops into a seat at the kitchen table with a huff. She picks up right where she left off, and Jeongyeon fully tunes her out as she picks up the phone and dials.

She knows Nayeon will take no offense, just like she knows Nayeon isn’t actually that annoyed about how their mission is going. She’s become unsettlingly used to listening to Nayeon rant over the last two weeks. 

At first, it had been bewildering. Seamlessly integrating yourself into your target’s life is always painfully slow. She can’t just pop up and introduce herself. Nishi Shiego knows that what he’s doing is illegal, and the way his eyes flit around the cafe every time he logs onto his computer tells them all they need to know about how easy it would be to spook him. It confused Jeongyeon that Nayeon, with as much experience as she had, was so flustered over something so basic.

Yet, the frustrating ranting had continued, and it had continued to confuse Jeongyeon until, on her fourth day in the cafe, Jeongyeon had witnessed a Extra-Large-Latte-20-Pumps-Vanilla-20-Pumps-Caramel-Whole-Milk-Extra-Caramel-Drizzle-190-Degrees-Or-Bust customer aka a Let-Me-Speak-To-Your-Manager customer aka an I’m-Not-Drinking-This customer aka the absolute bane of Nayeon’s existence. 

She wonders if it’s pride, the thing that stops Nayeon from just being honest about the fact that her job is stressing her the fuck out. She supposes, possibly, that someone with as much pride in her career as Nayeon might be disinclined to admit that mothers of three with a penchant for capris and shouting or condescending middle-aged men who insist that she can’t make coffee correctly are the things that are making her lose her cool. It’s more “respectable” to complain about the mission itself, Jeongyeon supposes, even if she begs to differ.

She finishes placing the order and tunes back in right as Nayeon winds down. “—try again next week.”

“Definitely.” Jeongyeon shoots Nayeon a mirthless smile. “Which is exactly what we’ve planned to do, remember? Next week I’m going to catch his eye and wave, and then I’m going to start sitting behind him to watch his keystrokes. That is the plan you and I agreed on, after all.”

Nayeon nods, not even the slightest bit shamed. “Right. It is. It’s just annoying.” Her fingers drum against the tabletop, brows drawn down in irritation. “Did the order go in?”

“Yup. Your chicken curry is on its way. Should be an hour. Unfortunately, this place doesn't have a superspeed delivery person.”

“Thanks.”

The silence that follows is long enough that Jeongyeon is sure Nayeon is done with her rants for the evening. She looks no less tense than she did when they left the cafe, and while part of Jeongyeon just wants to make Nayeon talk about what’s actually stressing her out, she knows that it’s none of her business. Nayeon can handle herself.

The point of Lego’s claw tapping gently against her cheek reminds her that she needs to take care of dinner for someone else. With one last glance at Nayeon, she turns towards the fridge and carries on with her evening.

It goes as her evenings usually do these days. While waiting for their food to arrive, Jeongyeon feeds her cat, takes a trip to the basement to do some light weight training, and takes a quick shower. By the time she gets back, Nayeon is making her way into the kitchen, food delivery in hand. Jeongyeon grabs bowls and cutlery as Nayeon unpacks the take out, and they exchange their holdings with quiet thanks.

Jeongyeon allows herself a moment to study Nayeon as the other woman grins down at her curry. She looks a bit less stressed, but Jeongyeon has no doubt Nayeon will be right back to frustrated come tomorrow. It’s a shame they can’t really spar out of fear of inexplicable bruising; she knows from experience that a pissed off Nayeon is a formidable sparring partner.

Nayeon lets out a loud curse as her spoon clatters to the floor, and the moment is broken. Jeongyeon snorts out a laugh and makes her way to the couch, grabbing her bag on the way there. There’s a few assignments TA-Nayeon had left in her mailbox for her to review, and Jeongyeon hopes she can knock them out during dinner and have the rest of the evening to herself.

No more than five minutes later, Jeongyeon feels the couch shift with the weight of another person. “Please don’t tell me you’re doing what I think you are.”

“Okay,” Nayeon says. “I’m not picking up the remote to turn the TV on so I can catch the episode of the drama that’s about to air.” The TV flickers to life, and Nayeon settles back into the couch with her food and a self-satisfied grin.

Jeongyeon groans. “Seriously? I’m working!”

Nayeon waves her off, and Jeongyeon just barely resists the urge to slap her hand out of the air. “Please. You complain every time but always end up finishing just fine. Focus on helping your little rising stars, and I’ll focus on finding out if this wedding is happening or if the lead’s ex is going to show up and ruin everything. They've been waiting to kiss until their wedding day to see if they're soulmates, but her ex insists that he's her real soulmate.”

The best response Jeongyeon can manage is a grumble, having fought and lost this battle several times already. Nayeon’s right, but Jeongyeon refuses to just roll over without some sort of protest.

Soon, the drama is in full swing, and Jeongyeon finds herself reviewing her students' answers with Nayeon as the background noise. When Nayeon has a particularly loud reaction— a gasp, a guffaw, a shriek— Jeongyeon will look up, only to find herself just as lost as she was when she wasn’t paying attention. It takes about forty minutes for Jeongyeon to wrap up her work, and by then Nayeon is fully invested in the episode unfolding in front of her.

Jeongyeon can’t resist the urge to needle her. “Who the hell is the guy in the suit?”

“Her brother.” Nayeon’s eyes don’t waver from the screen.

“Didn’t he get killed two episodes ago?”

Nayeon’s face twitches, and Jeongyeon knows she’s almost got her. “He faked his death.”

“He fell out a tenth story window. How the hell—”

“Shh! Don't act like you don't know powers exist.” Nayeon doesn’t even glance her way, just waves her hand in Jeongyeon’s direction as if shooing her away. It’s not quite the reaction Jeongyeon is looking for, and she sinks back into the couch with a hum. She had at least wanted an annoyed glare she could laugh at.

It’s at this moment that Lego chooses to join them on the couch, heaping further defeat onto Jeongyeon by going for Nayeon’s lap instead of hers. Damned Traitor.

Nayeon doesn’t even flinch, mindlessly lifting her hands to begin stroking Lego’s ears. It’s not the first time it’s happened, but something about this particular evening has loosened Jeongyeon’s tongue. There’s a tugging sensation in her chest that won’t be satisfied until she’s properly annoyed Nayeon.

So she interrupts again.

“I don’t know what my cat sees in you.”

Surprisingly, this one actually works, and Nayeon turns to face her with a smirk curling her lips. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe she sees the person responsible for feeding her these days.”

“I just fed her,” Jeongyeon protests. “I’ve fed her for years!”

Nayeon runs a finger down Lego’s nose and then shrugs, expression haughty. “Your cat just has good taste now that she has options. I don’t know what to tell you.”

“No one in this house treats me with any respect.” Jeongyeon crosses her arms, slumping further into the couch.

Nayeon regards her with a raised eyebrow. “Now why would we do that? Both Lego and I have seen you put salt in your coffee instead of sugar.”

Jeongyeon splutters. “That’s because someone put the salt in a container that says sugar!” She jabs a finger at Nayeon, continuing over a muttered _excuses, excuses_. “You know, you’re going to make me miss workdays. At least my students are nice to me.”

“That’s because you’re giving them a grade, now hush and let me finish. We can discuss how your cat likes me more than you later.”

Jeongyeon relents with a wordless grumble, and, once Nayeon has turned away from her, she drops her head to rest on the back of the couch and rolls her lips together. At the time of the salt incident, she had quickly sketched some water balloons and proceeded to pelt Nayeon with them. It had been fun in the end, even if she could still taste the salted coffee on her tongue.

Her mind continues to wander, aimlessly remembering things from earlier today or in the week. Her eyes slip shut of their own accord, covering her unfocused gaze. Even if they haven’t been doing much in terms of engaging with the target, it’s been exhausting. There’s a constant tension along her shoulders these days, and with two days of not staring at Nishi ahead of her, the thought of moving becomes even more undesirable. It would be easy enough to let herself doze off a bit, the chatter of the drama already fading into white noise. There’s a blanket about two feet from her, close enough to grab if she could just bring herself to move her hand. Instead, she sinks further into her drowsiness, awareness shrinking until all she can feel is a weightlessness suffusing through her body.

The last thing she remembers before succumbing is the sound of Nayeon’s voice, distant yet undeniably present.

When Jeongyeon wakes up, it’s to the sensation of something heavy on her head. It takes a moment for her brain to kick into gear, and once it does, she reaches up with a groan. Her hand barely makes it out from under the blanket before Lego is leaping off of her. She lets her hand fall and sinks back into her bed.

This isn’t her bed.

Jeongyeon jolts awake. At first, her eyes battle with the sun to stay open, but she quickly realizes that she’s in their living room, apparently never having woken up from what was supposed to be a quick nap. She drops her head into her hands and tries to recall if she woke up to rearrange herself, but it’s one giant blank.

A soft laugh draws her attention to the kitchen, and she glances over the back of the couch to see Nayeon sitting at the kitchen table, laughing at something on her phone. Her brain stutter-steps upon seeing Nayeon, because suddenly the answer to her question is clear. It’s the only thing that makes sense. It’s also the last thing Jeongyeon would’ve expected.

She clears her throat. “What time is it?”

Nayeon’s eyes flit over to her, and Jeongyeon doesn’t miss Nayeon’s chuckle. Jeongyeon runs her hand over her face, relieved when she doesn’t feel any drool or obvious pillow marks. “Nine.”

“Nine!” Jeongyeon grabs for her phone, eyes widening when she realizes that Nayeon isn’t wrong. “How the…” At this point, it’s been months since she’s slept later than 8 with an uninterrupted night of sleep. Now that she’s aware of it, there’s a wonderful contentment in her muscles, a gentle satisfaction that creeps along her spine and settles on her shoulders.

She slept.

“You were surprisingly easy to move around,” Nayeon offers, standing up from the kitchen table. “Based on the first time I kindly let myself into your apartment, I expected to get throat-punched, but you just kinda flopped around.” Jeongyeon gapes for lack of a better response, but Nayeon doesn’t need one. “You should really work on your defense,” Nayeon teases. She drops her coffee mug into the sink and walks down the hallway without another word.

Jeongyeon doesn’t even begin to get a chance to say thank you, but she does take a second to acknowledge the glimmer of hope that settles in her chest. They might just make it out of this without killing each other after all.

//

For the third time that day, Nayeon walks into the kitchen and opens the fridge, only to close it after staring for thirty seconds. She’s restless, and she doesn’t like it. They’re in a strange holding pattern on the weekends. They aren’t at the stage where they would “accidentally” bump into the target outside of the cafe, and there’s not much intel gathering to be done when Jeongyeon can’t try and speak with him.

She could go for a run, she supposes, but that idea is so wildly unappealing that she discards it immediately. A loud sigh from the living room stops her in her journey back to her room, and with a few curious steps, she spots its source.

She can only see the top of Jeongyeon’s head over the back of the couch, but she has a feeling she knows what’s causing the other woman to sigh so dramatically. It’s been funny watching Jeongyeon fall into the role of professor so seriously. She knows that Jeongyeon is required to prep her lessons ahead of time, but she really doesn’t think her job requires her to spend hours critiquing a sample mix one of her students had sent her or to offer office hours outside the normal time.

The last three weeks have been strange, Nayeon muses as she continues to watch the top of Jeongyeon’s head. She had prepared herself for a lot of things when it came to having Jeongyeon as a roommate. She was prepared to be annoyed by small habits, prepared to be annoyed by their fundamental differences, prepared to experience the stilted awkwardness that can come with living with a mission partner.

She had even grabbed lint rollers during their first week, quickly realizing that cat hair was a new enemy she’d have to face down.

What Nayeon hadn’t quite been prepared for was seeing an entirely different side of Jeongyeon. She hadn’t been ready for the small things, the spats over dishes or offers to drive her to work in the morning. She hadn’t expected to find herself on the receiving end of Jeongyeon’s sympathetic gaze as she bandaged a burn on her hand that had come from a spilled cup of coffee, nor would she ever have imagined that she’d be here: leaning against the doorway and mulling over her mission partner’s nicer-than-expected behaviors.

It stirs discomfort in her chest, and she knows why. She wants to get along with Jeongyeon, but she doesn’t actually want to like her, not after the number of times they’ve clashed.

(She ignores the part of herself that had taken a long look at Jeongyeon when she had fallen asleep on the couch last night. She had looked so unguarded then, and Nayeon couldn’t stop herself from making sure she was comfortable. Jeongyeon had moved with her so easily, and Nayeon couldn’t help but be momentarily endeared by the way Jeongyeon had pulled the blanket tighter around herself once Nayeon had draped it over her.)

Nayeon knows that, in another, very different, life, they’d probably be friends. It’s annoying to think about, but Nayeon knows herself. She remembers how they had gotten along before their last truth serum session.

She doesn’t like growing fond of her mission partners, and lord knows it’s been awhile since she’s actually made a friend. Not that she would consider her and Jeongyeon friends, but they’re certainly not enemies anymore. In the end, the stirring in her chest drives her to the couch, where she plops down with an annoyingly wide grin. She enjoys the way Jeongyeon flinches and scowls at her. Even from five feet away, Nayeon can tell scorn isn’t nearly as ill-intentioned as it would’ve been a few weeks ago.

“Wanna spar?”

Jeongyeon pulls her headphones from her ears, regarding Nayeon with a raised eyebrow. “And where exactly would we spar?”

Nayeon gestures to the floor. “The soundproofed basement Dahyun showed us for training purposes. You know, the one both of us work out in.” She can already tell Jeongyeon isn’t going to agree.

“You do know that’s not happening right?”

There it is. “I miss when I used to piss you off just by breathing,” Nayeon grumbles.

Jeongyeon laughs. “Why? Because that me would’ve already tried to smack you with a chair?”

“Exactly!” Nayeon falls back against the couch. “You’ve lost your spark, Y—Kang.”

Jeongyeon smirks, a clear taunt, and Nayeon fights the urge to do some chair smacking of her own. “Listen, you know it hurts me to turn down the chance to kick your ass, but it would really ruin our attempts to fly under the radar if we got the cops called on us for domestic disturbance because you showed up to work with a black eye.”

Nayeon scoffs. “Please. Like you wouldn’t be the one horrifying your students with a busted lip.”

“And can you imagine serving customers and they see your banged up forearms?” Jeongyeon continues as if Nayeon hadn't said anything. “Bad optics.”

The restless energy brewing under Nayeon’s skin doesn’t want her to agree, but she knows Jeongyeon has a point. “Goddammit. Fine.”

Jeongyeon regards her for a long second, eyes tracing over her face in a way that makes Nayeon wonder if she’s currently using her powers. Jeongyeon’s cheeks puff, then deflate. Nayeon anticipates the delivery of whatever idea Jeongyeon has just come up with. “I suppose,” Jeongyeon begins, shifting in place, “we could try a spar if we kept things light and wore padded gloves.”

Nayeon straightens up. “Really?”

“You sound far too excited about violence.”

“Oh please.” Nayeon rolls her eyes. “Like you haven’t missed the thrill of a good spar.”

Silence. Jeongyeon averts her eyes.

“Exactly.”

“Whatever. Listen, we can do that later, but for now you should come listen to this mix.” Jeongyeon extends her headphones towards Nayeon.

Nayeon can’t help but notice that Jeongyeon doesn’t hesitate to move her hand near Nayeon’s ungloved one. She doesn’t know if it’s because Jeongyeon trusts her more, no longer cares about Nayeon seeing her future, or simply forgot, but it feels like a small victory nonetheless.

Nayeon reaches out to take the headphones, fingers running over the soft plush of the headband. “Is it good?”

A snort. “Absolutely not, but as their professor, I shouldn’t be so critical. You, however, have never met this student and should have no qualms about giving me your harsh opinion so I can laugh without guilt.”

“Crank it, Kang.”

As it goes, they end up sparring that same evening. Nayeon shows up in Jeongyeon’s doorway, and whips gloves at her head. Jeongyeon barely has time to block the gloves before Nayeon says “Five minutes!” and darts away.

Jeongyeon makes it to the basement in two, and they spend the next thirty minutes doing the strangest sparring Nayeon has ever experienced. Neither of them want to bruise the other, which means that punches are reduced to taps, and leg sweeps are aborted halfway through.

Despite the fact that Nayeon works up a sweat, it feels nothing short of ridiculous, and when she bursts into laughter after gently tapping Jeongyeon on the cheek, Jeongyeon follows suit until they’re both slumped over, gasping for air.

//

“Professor Kang?”

Jeongyeon looks up. “Hey, Nayeon. How bad was our phone count today?”

TA-Nayeon laughs, adjusting the strap of her bag. “Not that bad. I think they got engaged when you started rapping, but I'm pretty sure we had a student using his X-Ray vision to text without looking.”

“Hey, hey,” Jeongyeon protests, making a mental note to watch out for that student during tests. “That wasn’t rapping. I was just speaking to a rhythm to prove a point.” She gathers up her things and begins putting them in her bag, looking down to give herself time to manage the blush trying to spread across her cheeks. It absolutely wasn’t rapping, but she definitely felt ridiculous.

“Whatever you say, Professor.” Nayeon smiles. “I actually wanted to ask you about what you did before this.”

“Before this?”

Nayeon nods, pink hair swaying. “Yes! I’m graduating next semester, and I really need to be sure of where I’m going after. I thought you’d be a good person to ask.”

“Oh.” Jeongyeon blinks into the ensuing silence. “Sure, yes, of course! I’m headed out to a cafe now, if you’d like to come. We can talk about career stuff there. You can meet my roommate.” She finishes packing up her bag and gestures for Nayeon to follow her to the door. The invitation is sincere. Today isn’t the day she’s going to try and move on Nishi, so having Nayeon with her genuinely wouldn’t be an issue. If anything, it would make her presence in the cafe seem more natural.

“The one who sings way too loudly in the shower?”

Jeongyeon chuckles, closing and locking the classroom door behind them as they step into the hallway. “That’s the one.”

“How long have you two been roommates?”

“A couple years now at this point. We met in college.” She ducks slightly as a student flies overhead. There's rules about using powers on campus, but students never seem to adhere to them.

Nayeon hums, silent as they descend the stairs. Her heels click against the linoleum steps, and Jeongyeon finds herself enjoying the rhythm. She’s about to open her mouth to make a joke about time signatures when Nayeon speaks again. “What’d she major in?”

“Business,” Jeongyeon answers. “She’s trying to figure out exactly what she wants to do.”

Nayeon sends Jeongyeon a slow smile, the kind that speaks to a deeper emotion Jeongyeon can’t quite parse. “I understand that. I’d love to meet her, but I have another meeting in a little bit. I don’t want to go too far off campus. Can we meet before class later this week?”

“Sure,” Jeongyeon says. “Let me know what works for you.”

“See you then!”

Jeongyeon turns when she reaches the crosswalk, expecting to see a shock of pink hair bobbing through the crowd, but there’s no Nayeon in sight. “Huh,” she mutters. “Must be a fast walker.”

//

“Good afternoon, roomie.” Jeongyeon grins as she hands over her card. “How are things on the front lines?”

Nayeon smiles, but Jeongyeon can tell she desperately wants to roll her eyes. She plucks the card from Jeongyeon’s fingers with expert precision, avoiding skin contact. “Oh just dandy, of course. How was class?”

“Good,” Jeongyeon says. “I got to watch the reactions on my student’s faces as my TA handed out their latest quiz. Lots of sighs of relief. One kid got too excited and set his neighbor's paper on fire. There was only one horrified expression.”

“Only one,” Nayeon gasps dramatically. “You’re losing your touch, Kang.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Jeongyeon waves away the teasing. “Can I just get an iced caramel latte?”

Nayeon looks at her in mild confusion even as she begins putting the order in. “What? No ‘Two-and-a-half pumps of caramel that’s double stirred filled to a centimeter below the lip of the cup’?”

“You know I only like to do those orders when it’s you making the drinks.” Jeongyeon grabs the receipt that’s offered to her. “Besides, you always end up making me an Americano or iced latte regardless of what I say.”

Nayeon brings a hand to her chest and flutters her eyelashes in a facsimile of innocence. “I would never—”

“Excuse me.” An icy voice cuts through their conversation, and Jeongyeon sees dread flash over Nayeon’s features. She knows exactly who—or what, she supposes—must be standing behind her, and the words that follow only confirm it. “Some of us have important work to get to, so if you’d mind wrapping this little chat up.”

Jeongyeon opens her mouth to either curse out the woman behind her or tell her to wait a moment, but Nayeon cuts her off before she can decide which route to take. “Of course, ma’am. I apologize.” The flicker of Nayeon’s eyes has Jeongyeon stepping away without a word, and she waits for her drink with a silent and rapidly growing annoyance. She knows Nayeon can’t say anything out of fear of blowing her cover, and she knows that Nayeon isn’t actually harmed by this behavior. But it grates at her. 

Nayeon still hasn’t actually said anything about how frustrated she is with her work, only offering Jeongyeon a too-bright smile and a “Perfectly fine” when she dares to ask. 

Somehow, this woman manages to turns her high-maintenance coffee order into something doubly annoying. Each item in her list of requirements is followed by a complaint about how it had been messed up a previous time. The comments are poorly-concealed barbs, and Jeongyeon truly doesn’t understand how neither Nayeon nor her coworkers have snapped yet.

Someone calls her name, and she accepts her drink with a sympathetic grimace. She tries to recenter herself as she grabs her drink and turns around. Today is the day she’s going to talk to Nishi for the first time, and she needs to be on her A-game. She thinks she has a pretty good read on him after two weeks of observation. 

He’s stoic and polite. His eyes linger on pairs in the cafe, drawn to loud laughter or boisterous discussions. He is, Jeongyeon has concluded, lonely. He never checks his phone, not even on days when he’s in the cafe for four hours. His background check points to much of the same.

Nishi Shiego is the only son of two long-dead parents. There are no records of him having ever been married. The only social media presence he has is on a networking site, and even that is just a bare-bones profile with a picture that looks a decade old. Nishi Shiego is alone and lonely and any sympathy Jeongyeon might feel for him is swallowed by the knowledge of what he’s done.

Jeongyeon knows what those machines are capable of. There’s no way to accidentally contribute to them.

It’s in this mindset that the woman’s voice reaches her ears. “I’m sorry for interrupting your conversation back there, but these employees can be so inconsiderate.” Jeongyeon turns around and immediately notices the stark white of this woman’s blouse. She darts her eyes down to confirm. Capris. “That cashier especially…” She clicks her tongue and dissolves any of Jeongyeon’s remaining patience.

She can’t stop every shitty customer, but she can at least do this.

Jeongyeon slaps a smile on her face and simpers. “Oh, of course. Service workers these days simply don’t— oh!”

It’s incredibly easy to pretend to slip, and even easier to dump a good bit of her iced coffee on this woman’s shirt. The reaction is instantaneous, and the scream that wrenches itself from the woman’s lips draws the attention of everyone inside of the cafe. She looks down at her shirt in horror, and Jeongyeon moves to drive the point home. She lunges for the napkin dispenser and grabs a handful, beginning to rub at the woman’s shirt while issuing countless apologies.

“I’m so so sorry, miss. I really don’t know how I slipped. It must’ve—”

“Don’t rub! What is wrong—” she cuts herself off with another shriek, swatting at Jeongyeon’s hands. It’s only thanks to years and years of training that Jeongyeon manages to not burst into laughter. The employees behind the counter don’t have the same history, and Jeongyeon hears several giggles accompany the chaos.

The next couple minutes are a blur of more yelling and threats to speak to the management and never return, and at the end of it Jeongyeon is left watching the woman exit through the door. Jeongyeon is breathing heavily, face flushed from the rush of a revenge best served cold. She locks eyes with a bewildered Nayeon and finally lets the grin tugging at her lips unfold.

Jeongyeon shoots her a wink, and in return receives a smile that stuns her with it’s genuineness. Nayeon’s eyes seem to shine with delight, and Jeongyeon knows that she made the right call. She turns and makes her way over to the table she had been eyeing earlier, but she draws up short when she sees Nishi looking at her as well.

His eyes dart down from her face to the pile of napkins in her hand and then back up. Jeongyeon shoots him a sheepish grin, unprepared for this to be their first interaction. “Accidents can be so crazy, right?”

“Indeed.” His voice is low and scratchy, almost as if from disuse. “Though some accidents are more fortunate than others.” His lips quirk upwards, and Jeongyeon realizes that her spur of the moment revenge may have just jumpstarted things.

“Funny how that works out, isn’t it?” Jeongyeon takes a seat at a table that’s next to and slightly behind his, closer than her original plan. Nishi gives her a stiff nod and close-lipped smile before turning back to his laptop.

Jeongyeon splays her fingertips on the table and takes a deep breath, letting her sudden rush of adrenaline dissolve. This is good. Now she just needs to act natural and not blow it. She reaches into her bag and withdraws a notepad, intent on looking busy. There’s really nothing for her to do now other than wait for another moment to present itself.

She’s halfway through writing some random sentence in her notebook when the sound of a plate hitting the table stops her. She looks up, surprised to see Nayeon standing before her with a plated pastry and a new drink. There’s a smile on her lips, one that Jeongyeon would call fond if she didn’t know better.

“The crew insisted,” Nayeon says, nudging the plate towards Jeongyeon. “Even if she ends up coming back tomorrow, you’re kind of everyone’s hero right now.”

Jeongyeon raises an eyebrow. “Everyone's,” she teases.

“Everyone's,” Nayeon says. She sets the drink down. “Thank you, Hyerim. I appreciate it.”

“Of course. She got what she deserved.”

Nayeon raises her eyebrows in agreement, giving Jeongyeon one last nod before turning and getting back to work.

Jeongyeon goes to pick up her cup and notices that something has been written on it.

_ They should make you an honorary Triune for that one. _

_ \- Sunah =] _

Jeongyeon chokes out a laugh, running her thumb over the lettering. She makes a mental note to tease Nayeon about spoilers later.

A few sips into her coffee, Jeongyeon takes a look at her pastry and notices that it’s a cinnamon scone, the same pastry that Nishi would order every couple days. She looks towards the register, unsurprised to find Nayeon looking back at her with a pointedly raised eyebrow.

Clever.

She picks the pastry up and makes her way over to his table, running her eyes over his laptop screen as quickly as she can while appearing natural. She’s pretty sure she recognizes the program he’s working in, but she can’t get a great glimpse at the code.

“Excuse me?” She steps into his field of view, offering an easy smile. “I was wondering if you’d like this. I got it as a result of my completely accidental accident, but I don’t like cinnamon.”

Genuine surprise warps Nishi’s face. “You don’t like cinnamon?”

Jeongyeon chuckles. “No, I don’t, but I’m hoping you do. If I have to give away a free pastry to someone, I want it to be someone who understands coding architecture.” She gestures to a book sitting on the table between them. “That book is a good one, but a pastry would make it better.”

By the way his eyes light up, Jeongyeon knows she’s scored a win. If she ever sees that woman again, she’ll have to buy her a drink and not spill it on her. It seems common enemies are a wonderful way of breaking the ice.

//

Things move quickly after that. Jeongyeon takes to greeting Nishi each time she comes to the cafe, coaxing more and more words out of him until they’re having a friendly conversation each day. Nayeon is relieved, both at the mission progress and at the fact that this means the end of her time as a barista is drawing ever closer. Jeongyeon spilling her coffee on that wretched woman was a delight, but she can still feel herself getting tenser with each day that passes.

Jeongyeon manages to collect snippets of Nishi’s passwords for various websites and programs, jotting each of them down in her notebook when she catches them. She’s tried, at Nayeon’s urging, to turn the conversation towards slightly more illicit activities, but Nayeon saw how his eyes had widened the moment Jeongyeon mentioned a (false) criminal record and called it off.

He’s jittery, which makes it hard for Jeongyeon to make meaningful conversational inroads, but that also means he tends to look over his shoulder every time he’s about to begin working on something he shouldn’t be. They’re close to having what they need to make a move. As the days pass, moving forward with Nishi basically becomes all they talk about.

“He’d freak if he found”— Nayeon ducks under a punch, delivering a jab to Jeongyeon’s stomach— “found a tracker on him.” She finds satisfaction in the way Jeongyeon’s stomach curls around her fist, but it’s short lived. The heel of Jeongyeon’s palm slams into her wrist bone, the sharp pain causing Nayeon to stumble backwards. She grits her teeth, snapping her hand up before Jeongyeon can pull away and wrapping it around her wrist.

She tugs, and Jeongyeon falls towards her. Nayeon goes to pull away and slip around behind Jeongyeon, but she finds herself unable to.

Somehow, despite being off-balance, Jeongyeon manages to find her footing and yank back on her wrist. It brings them to a sudden standstill, mere inches away from headbutting each other. The quick change in inertia leaves them both momentarily frozen, locked in an invisible embrace. As they stand there, arms interlocked and ragged breaths mingling, Nayeon’s mind goes blank.

A beat passes with neither of them making a move. Then another. Jeongyeon’s wrist twitches, and Nayeon tightens her grip. There’s a taunt in Jeongyeon’s brown eyes, and it only makes Nayeon want to prove her wrong.

“You act like there’s not more subtle ways of planting trackers,” Jeongyeon says, breaking their stalemate by throwing a knee at Nayeon’s stomach.

Nayeon drops her free hand down, shoving away Jeongyeon’s knee with the outer edge of her hand. Jeongyeon swivels with the motion, taking advantage of the change in Nayeon’s focus to wrench her wrist away as she does so. She plants her foot on the ground and thrusts backwards with her other leg.

Nayeon does her best to sweep the leg away again, but Jeongyeon manages to catch her hipbone with her heel. She hisses in pain, well-aware that she’s going to be sore tomorrow.

She presses forward, and she can’t help the smile that crosses her face when she looks over Jeongyeon’s shoulder and realizes where they are in the room. She throws a few half-hearted punches, making her steps forward as large as Jeongyeon will let her. The smirk on Jeongyeon’s face as she throws up block after block no longer sparks a deep and otherworldly rage in her stomach, but it sure as hell makes her want to win.

“What’s your suggestion then?” It’s becoming harder and harder to speak, but Nayeon has never been one to back down from a challenge.

“We just— Fuck!” Jeongyeon jolts as her back hits the wall, and Nayeon lets out a victorious laugh.

“That’s a win for me, thank you.”

“Wha— How?” Jeongyeon twists her head between the wall and Nayeon. “I swear we were on the other side of the room two seconds ago!”

“Aw,” Nayeon coos, reaching out. “It’s okay. You’ll do better next time. You just have to work on controlling your spinning kicks better.” She pats Jeongyeon’s cheek, flushed from exertion and curved by the scowl on her face. She means to draw her hand away, but inexplicably ends up lingering. For a moment, Nayeon gets tangled up in her own thoughts.

She wonders what it would be like to touch Jeongyeon’s skin without a cotton separating them. The curiosity doesn’t come from a desire to know Jeongyeon’s future. It simply pops into Nayeon’s head, holding her palm in place and sending her thumb sliding over the apple of Jeongyeon’s cheek. She follows the curiosity without thought, taking in the flyaway hairs forming their own little halo around Jeongyeon’s head, the staccato rhythm of Jeongyeon’s pulse under her fingertips.

“Uh, I—” Jeongyeon trails off, whatever she was going to say getting swallowed down. It’s then that Nayeon realizes what exactly she’s doing, and it’s only thanks to her years of training that she controls herself enough to calmly remove her hand from Jeongyeon’s cheek.

Jeongyeon clears her throat, and Nayeon can only hope she’s not suddenly overcome with the same awkwardness Nayeon feels wracking her body. “Who even decided we’d do back-against-the-wall rules?”

“It was your idea, dumbass.” Nayeon straightens up, shakes her hand to remove the phantom press of Jeongyeon’s cheek against her clothed fingertips. “Now, you were saying about a tracker?”

“Oh, yes!” Jeongyeon brightens, pushing a hand through sweaty hair. “We just drop a small tracer into his coffee. Pretty sure the latest version sticks around for 72 hours or something like that. Plenty of time to figure out where he lives.”

Nayeon takes a second to assess the plan, and she finds no faults. “Alright. I assume you have some of these? If not, I’m sure we can find what we need to build one.”

Jeongyeon looks at her for a long moment, and Nayeon wonders if she’s drifted into a similar stupor. It could be sleep deprivation on Jeongyeon’s part. She’s well aware that her partner is sleeping unevenly, and half of the time, she walks out into the kitchen in the morning to find Jeongyeon asleep on the couch. She doesn’t really care what Jeongyeon gets up to at night. It hasn’t hindered the mission yet, but it might be wise to ask if this—

“You’ve seriously forgotten who you’re talking to, haven’t you?”

“Excuse me?”

“Sunah,” Jeongyeon says. She steps forward, grabbing Nayeon’s shoulders and shaking her slightly. “What are my powers?”

“X-ray vision, time manipulation, and sk— Oh.” Nayeon’s grateful that her face is already flushed from exertion. “Right. I’ve had a long day.”

“Bad customer?” Jeongyeon narrows her eyes. “Did my nemesis show up before I got there?”

“Slow down, coffee cowboy.” Jeongyeon scoffs. “She didn’t show up. Just a long day.” Nayeon moves backwards until she’s in the center of the room. “Now why don’t you tell me more about this tracker while I kick your ass again.”

Jeongyeon responds by charging at her, and Nayeon braces herself for a dodge. Hopefully Jeongyeon has the sense to stop herself before she slams headfirst into a wall.

//

The conversations about Nishi don’t stop after the tracker is planted.

The delivery of the tracker goes off without a hitch. They had debated for a few minutes about where to place it, but in the end, Nishi’s cup of tea had been the carrier. Jeongyeon looks through the book she’s pretending to read and monitors every sip of tea he takes. There’s no signs that anything is amiss, and when Jeongyeon checks the tracker on her phone, she finds a red dot blinking at her. It shows that Nishi is exactly where Jeongyeon sees him.

They wait 48 hours, taking shifts to log his movements. There’s not much to make note of. He goes to what they assume is his home—the address doesn’t match the one listed in his records—and he goes to the cafe. There are small variations during those two days: Nishi choosing a slightly longer path or deciding to pop into a grocery store.

They take a drive the night after they bug him, Nayeon driving so Jeongyeon can level her gaze at his house. Her scan reveals that Nishi hides his secret in the basement in the form of several server towers, and they know they’ve found their target. They have all the information they can gather at this point, sans stealing Nishi’s laptop and setting off a potentially far-reaching wave of panic. It’s time to take next steps.

“Do you see a security system,” Nayeon asks. “Or a large animal?”

Jeongyeon shakes her head. “No and nope. I don’t see any cameras or anything. I’d wager that all of his security is in his computer systems. He probably doesn’t expect people to actually break into his house in the first place.”

“Expecting a challenge?”

“Mmm, not really.” Jeongyeon watches Nayeon approach a stop sign and wonders if she will yet again fail to completely stop before stepping too hard on the pedal. “I have a decent expectation of what I might be looking at, and I’m not trying to directly hack his systems. We just need to figure out where his shit is going.”

“Works for me.” A beat of silence. “Do you think I should call my cousin today? It’s been awhile.”

Jeongyeon takes a moment to think about everything they’ve done. “I think so. I’ll join you. I have to make sure you’re not slandering me to Hyo.”

Nayeon scoffs, flicking her hair over her shoulder. “I would simply be telling the truth, which happens to include your flaws.”

“Oh you wanna talk flaws—” Jeongyeon’s words cut off as the seatbelt presses into her airway. The pressure lifts as she settles back into her seat and twists to face Nayeon. “Who the fuck taught you how to drive? Are your feet made of lead of something?”

“It’s not my fault you don’t seem capable of understanding how seatbelts work!”

“Oh is that it—”

//

“Sunah,” Jihyo’s voice echoes around the basement. Her tone is noticeably lighter than normal. “How have you been? Did you see that movie I told you about?”

“I did,” Nayeon replies. “I really liked the part where the chickens found the treasure in the desert oasis.” She exchanges a bemused glance with Jeongyeon as she delivers the agreed upon passphrase. It makes sense to have one; it always does, but Nayeon never stops finding herself amused at the random words she ends up saying.

Jihyo’s voice drops into a more familiar tone. “I presume you’re in the basement.”

“We are,” Jeongyeon says. They’re sitting together on one of the weight benches, phone resting on Nayeon’s thigh with speakerphone on. “At this point, we have all of the intel we’re going to get on him.”

“Passwords?”

“Acquired.”

“Personality profile?”

“Complete.”

“Do you have any reason to suspect your identities were compromised?”

They answer at the same time. “No.”

“We stuck to using our cover identities outside of this room,” Jeongyeon continues. “There’s been no sign of Nishi knowing that we aren’t who we say we are. He’s only continued to open up to me, and he even smiled at Nayeon yesterday.”

“It was truly remarkable,” Nayeon agrees.

“If you both feel ready to move forward, then I’d like for you to act as quickly as possible. Is there any reason to think Nishi might not go into the cafe tomorrow afternoon?” Jihyo’s tone is clipped, and Nayeon finds herself ever so briefly longing for the non-mission side of Jihyo.

“As far as we’re aware, he should be at the cafe per his normal routine.”

“Excellent. Then you’ll move tomorrow at 11. Agent Yoo, plug into the cafe’s security camera feeds so that you can monitor Nishi’s movements. Agent Im, determine which method of entry you want to use to access the house and sketch out a rough plan from there.”

“Understood. We can—”

“I have a midterm!” Nayeon looks up just in time to see Jeongyeon wince.

The silence from Jihyo’s end is thunderous. “Excuse me, Agent Yoo? You… have a midterm?”

“Forget I said anything, really!” Jeongyeon waves her hands in front of her face, cheeks flushed. “I can just have my TA cover for me. Please forget I said anything.”

Nayeon hopes Jihyo will jump at the opportunity to rake Jeongyeon over the metaphorical coals, but instead, she breezes on by it. “Yes, please make whatever arrangements you need. Agent Im, you’ll call in sick, I presume?”

“Yes.”

“Excellent.” Nayeon hears Jihyo clap her hands together. “Now, run me through everything you’ve found in detail.”

The next thirty minutes are a pure relay of information. Jihyo speaks very little, only doing so to gather additional details or make wordless noises of acknowledgment. At the end of it all, they’re in complete and total agreement. They’re ready, and tomorrow is the day.

The excitement that rushes underneath Nayeon’s skin is a dull one, but she can’t deny that she’s looking forward to getting this step out of the way. She won’t miss her uniform, and the thought of being able to throw it into a fire makes her almost giddy.

“Be sure to call me as soon as you’re safe,” Jihyo reminds. “We’ll figure out next steps from there.”

“Of course,” Nayeon says. Next to her, Jeongyeon mutters an agreement. “I miss you, Jihyo. Make sure you’re taking care of yourself, okay?”

It’s the most personal they’ve gotten this entire call, and it goes against every shred of Agency protocol she’s ever learned. Nayeon doesn’t really care. It’s Jihyo, and the Jihyo Nayeon knows tends to get too lost in her own plans on a good day. She can only hope Tzuyu’s been dragging her out of her office at half-decent time over the last month and a half.

Silence. Nayeon can almost hear Jihyo struggling to change gears from Director Park to just Jihyo. Eventually it comes, and some of the tension in Nayeon’s shoulders melts away when she hears a familiar warm tone. “I miss you too. Both of you.”

Jeongyeon tenses next to her, and Nayeon sees gentle wonder on her face.

Jihyo continues. “Now go and get some rest so you can be on top form tomorrow, alright? I need you both to stay safe.”

“We will, Jihyo,” Jeongyeon says, exhaling as she continues. “We will.”

//

They spend the night leading up to the break-in arguing about what their cover will be. Jeongyeon insists that her time manipulation power renders any type of disguise useless, but Nayeon knows that it’s better safe than sorry. That argument and Nayeon’s refusal to rely solely on Jeongyeon’s power leads them here: standing in front of Nishi’s house dressed in coveralls with the words “Best Electric” on the back as the world around them hangs in suspension. They both have gloves on, and there’s plastic wrap around their shoes to prevent leaving behind footprints.

“Almost there,” Jeongyeon mutters, fiddling with the lockpick. “This is a pretty standard lock.”

Nayeon leans against the house, trying her best to look like they’re not doing anything unnatural just in case they are somehow noticed. She’s still not able to fully get her head around just how much Jeongyeon’s power is capable of.

“We’re in.” Jeongyeon pushes the door open, sweeping her arm through the doorway. “After you. The house is empty. I’ll pull up the cafe security feeds once we get inside. Now that we’re in the house, I’ll be shrinking my bubble to be more localized.”

Nayeon nods, stepping into the house. She tries not to linger on her way to the basement, but she can’t help but scan the rooms she passes through. This house looks like something out of a homegoods magazine. There’s no sense of personalization, no photos, nothing to really indicate that this is a home and not just a house. It reminds her a bit of Jeongyeon’s apartment, in fact, and something in her chest twinges.

The first thing Nayeon notices about the basement is how muggy and uncomfortable it is. The source of the heat is very clearly the server towers, which let out a low humming noise that gives Nayeon the beginnings of a headache.

Nayeon watches Jeongyeon stride over to Nishi’s desk and whip out her sketchbook. A harddrive is produced, and then Jeongyeon is off. Nayeon glances down at the screen that had been handed to her, taking a few seconds to watch a grainy, blank-and-white Nishi flip through the book he had brought with him. After confirming that he indeed seems to be planning on staying at the cafe, Nayeon looks up and begins cataloging her surroundings. She figures the basement is approximately 10-feet by 6-feet, just enough room to cram in a desk, several server towers, and two interest-piquing filing cabinets.

Nayeon makes her way over to the cabinets, careful to avoid the wires criss-crossing the floor. The electricity bill for this place must be absolutely jaw-dropping. Though, Nayeon figures with no small amount of malice, helping manufacture black-market equipment for a psychopath probably pays pretty well.

Nayeon tugs on the top drawer of one of the filing cabinets, and to her surprise, it glides right open. She stands there for a moment, blinking at the sheaths of paper suddenly in front of her. Slowly, she reaches out a finger and runs it over the top of the documents, finding satisfaction in watching them bend and snap back. None of the labels in this drawer mean anything to her, and she braces herself for a thorough investigation.

As nice as it would be, she doubts Nishi has one of the drawers labeled “Work for X”. She dives into her search, skimming over documents and scribbled notes as quickly as she can, being sure to snap photos of anything that looks interesting. Halfway through the third drawer of the second filing cabinet, she finds something in a folder labeled “Retirement”. It’s a proof of delivery document with a photo attached.

One glance at the photo is enough for Nayeon to know she’s found something important. She stands up, turning on her heel to share her findings with Jeongyeon. It’s only then that she realizes that she hasn’t heard the sound of fingers hitting keys for the last several minutes.

Jeongyeon is exactly where Nayeon expects her to be, but the expression on her face worries her. Jeongyeon sits in front of two monitors, skin washed out and sallow in the monitor’s light. She stares, unblinking. One of her hands rests limp on the desk, fingertips barely touching the mouse. The other hovers uselessly above the keyboard.

“Hyerim…” Nayeon takes a hesitant step forward and then another when Jeongyeon fails to respond. She tries again, wishing she could use Jeongyeon’s real name instead. “Hyerim.” She has half a mind to look at the computer screen to see what’s arrested Jeongyeon so, but the subtle shake to Jeongyeon’s shoulders has Nayeon reaching out.

It’s as if the touch of Nayeon’s hand on her shoulder’s is the spark Jeongyeon need to spring into action. She lurches under the touch, fingers flying across the keyboard to close whatever it was she had been looking at. “Let’s go.”

“Excuse me.” Nayeon takes a step back as Jeongyeon rises from the chair. The chair she had been sitting in clatters against the desk. Tension coats her every movement. “What the hell was that?”

“Nothing,” Jeongyeon says gruffly, head hanging low. “I got what I needed. He had financial documents on his desktop. Simple enough to slip in without a trace.” Something is wrong, but Jeongyeon just repeats herself after a moment. “Let’s go.”

She goes to step towards the doorway, but Nayeon isn’t having it. She shoots out a hand to catch Jeongyeon’s wrist. “Hyerim.”

Jeongyeon turns, and Nayeon sees that her eyes are brimming with tears.

“There was a test case in his files.” Jeongyeon’s voice trembles with anger, and she swipes roughly at an escaped tear making it’s way down her cheek. “Notes on the types of things X has done and the things he wants to do in the future. They had”—Jeongyeon swallows, and Nayeon feels her pulse jump—“They're sick, and we're going to destroy them."

“We will.” Jeongyeon nods, reassured. Nayeon slides her hand down, giving Jeongyeon’s hand a quick squeeze before dropping her hand to her side. “Now, let’s get out of here. I found something as well, so I think we’re set.”

As they head up the stairs, the heat begins to lessen, and, walking out of Nishi’s house into the cool afternoon, Nayeon can’t help but feel like she just escaped from hell.

//

The drive back to their house is a quiet one, and Jeongyeon is grateful. She’s pleased to know they’ve successfully completed this leg of their mission, but her mind can’t tear itself away from the images and descriptions she had found on Nishi’s computer. She has a feeling the sour taste in her mouth will be lingering for days to come. The only silver lining is that she was able to close the documents before Nayeon could see them.

She’s vaguely aware of Nayeon making a quick call to Jihyo to inform her of their success and safety, but she tunes that out. She knows how this goes. They’ll get back to their apartment and go into the basement to fully debrief each other on their discoveries. The documents Jeongyeon found had pointed to a delivery location, but there was nothing on Nishi’s computer about who was receiving said delivery.

If Nayeon’s information points to the same thing, they’ll know what their next step is.

Once the call with Jihyo ends, Nayeon falls silent once more, and it stays this way until they’re in their apartment, breaking only when Lego darts out to greet them. Despite the fact that she’s on the cusp of confirming a breakthrough in a very important case, Nayeon takes a second to bend down and say hi right back. It makes Jeongyeon smile despite the unease she feels.

With each step towards their basement, Jeongyeon imagines herself placing the memories of those pictures into a small box and locking it away. She needs to focus on the mission. There will be a time and place to report on what she’s seen, but it’s not now.

In their basement, they swap notes. Jeongyeon uses her laptop to pull up the documents she had extracted, and Nayeon shares the photos she had taken with her phone. The information matches, and they’re left with the knowledge of where the machine Nishi helped build was delivered to.

“We need to figure—Sorry hold on.” Jeongyeon grabs her vibrating phone, letting out her first laugh in several hours when she sees what the message is.

“What is it,” Nayeon asks, taking a step closer. “Did one of your coworkers send you a not-funny meme again?”

Jeongyeon scoffs, knowing damn well that Nayeon had laughed at the picture she’s referring to. “No, just my TA. She took a picture of the class during the test and you can see several stressed out students.” She holds out her phone for Nayeon to take a look. “We’ll see if I have to curve the grades for this one.”

Nayeon winces. “I definitely don’t miss exams.”

“Me neither.” Jeongyeon laughs. “I couldn’t help but take a picture the other day when Nayeon was leading a review. Everyone looked so hopeful. Look.” Jeongyeon swipes through her photos before extending her phone to Nayeon once more. 

“I still think it’s weird that your TA has my name,” Nayeon says, looking down at the photo.

“It’s not yours right now, is it?” Jeongyeon expects a sarcastic response, but all she gets from Nayeon is a shaky exhale. “Nayeon?”

“This is your TA?” Nayeon has zoomed in on the photo until TA-Nayeon’s face fills the screen.

“Yes.” Jeongyeon’s voice lilts at the end. Nayeon is looking at her phone like she’s seen a ghost. 

“Jeongyeon.” Nayeon’s jaw clenches. “Why the fuck is Minatozaki Sana your TA, and why the hell is she using my first name to do it?”

The words take a moment to process, but when they do, Jeongyeon’s stomach bottoms out. “Minatozaki Sana? Jihyo’s Sana? There’s no way.” She takes a step closer, looking down at her phone clenched in Nayeon’s trembling hand. “No,” she says, shaking her head. “Why would Sana even be here? That’s my TA, Ito Nayeon.” At the mention of her name, Nayeon’s grip on the phone tightens even further, and Jeongyeon begins to worry for its welfare.

“I think I know what she looks like, thanks.” Nayeon’s voice is flat.

“Why would you—oh.” It hits Jeongyeon then, crashes through her chest and leaves her breathless. She remembers reading through Nayeon’s file. “She was your third.”

“That’s certainly one word for it, which brings me to my original question: Why is she here and why is she using my name?”

For just a moment, the frustration and confusion in Nayeon’s eyes falters, and she looks lost. Jeongyeon reaches out, relieved when Nayeon lets her take the phone from her. “You’re sure that it’s her?”

“Yes.”

Jeongyeon looks down at the phone once more, traces her eyes over a face she had become so familiar with. Nayeon—Sana leans over a student’s desk, finger pointing to something on his paper. If Nayeon is right about this being Sana, then this mission just became a lot more complicated. She’d never known what Sana had looked like, but she had read every non-destroyed report Jihyo had written about her.

“We need to call Jihyo. Now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes I have returned from a 2month+ grave!! And I present to you 16k of whatever this just was. Shoutouts to my executive producer Becca [(dubfu)](https://twitter.com/heartshooketh) without whom this fic would have a lot more typos and mixing up of codenames.


	10. Mission #2: The Lightning Fallacy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They say lightning never strikes the same place twice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last Time On GA:  
-Dahyun guided our intrepid heroes through their first several days undercover. Dahyun is great.  
-Nayeon learned latte art. Jeongyeon's students learned a lot(e) from her.  
-Jeongyeon falls asleep on the couch and mysteriously sleeps the night away, accompanied by a Nayeon-placed blanket.  
-A bad guy's house is broken into. Information is gathered.  
-We learn that Jeongyeon's beloved TA is actually Sana, Nayeon's ex who ghosted her and broke her heart into very, very tiny pieces.

By the time Nayeon registers Jeongyeon’s words, her phone is already out, thumb a second away from hitting the call button. 

“Wait!”

Jeongyeon looks down at the hand suddenly wrapped around her wrist. “What? We need to call Jihyo!”

“Why?” Nayeon’s knuckles whiten. “What about Sana makes us need to call Jihyo?”

Jeongyeon’s brow furrows as she lowers the phone. “It’s Sana.” The tone of her voice is impatient, as if Nayeon should know exactly why that matters to Jeongyeon. Frustration punches through her confusion.

“So fucking what,” Nayeon spits. “That doesn’t answer my question.”

Jeongyeon’s eyes dart across her face, growing wider and wider with every passing second. “You’re serious? You don’t know?”

“Know what?”

“Oh.” The thin whisper lands at her feet, but Nayeon can’t look away from Jeongyeon’s eyes. They soften, almost imperceptibly, and the corner of her mouth twitches downward just so. It’s pity well-concealed, but Nayeon catches it. 

It burns.

Shame sears her neck, draws the hand not wrapped around Jeongyeon’s wrist into a fist. She doesn’t want pity. She wants to know what the fuck is going on, and she wants to know why the hell the woman that left her all those years ago is suddenly showing up now, living a life under her name.

Jeongyeon mutters something under her breath, but Nayeon can’t focus enough to make it out. Countless words sizzle underneath her tongue, but none manage to form themselves into something worth saying. 

A touch on the back of her gloved hand draws her attention, and she realizes that she’s been gripping Jeongyeon’s wrist far too hard. “Nayeon—” She yanks her hand away before Jeongyeon can say anything more, embarrassment threatening to flush her cheeks further. “Nayeon,” Jeongyeon repeats, flexing her wrist. The sleeve rides up, and Nayeon can see the skin reddening rapidly. “Jihyo should be the one to tell you. It’s not my story.”

Nayeon relents with a nod because the pity on Jeongyeon’s face has morphed into genuine regret, and Nayeon can swallow that down much easier. 

There is another part of her, one that she so rarely has to face when it comes to Jihyo, that hisses in her mind. _ What else has Jihyo been hiding from me? _

She had never really taken the chance to sit with the fact that Jihyo knew Sana was her ex, that Jihyo had probably known that they were linked before she had knocked on her door the first time. Was that why Jihyo had come to her with words of comfort and an unspoken offer of friendship several years ago? How much of her and Jihyo’s friendship had Sana influenced? Why was Nayeon the last to know?

Jeongyeon gives her another searching look, and when Nayeon nods, she raises the phone and presses call.

“Hyerim!” Jihyo’s voice rings out. It kicks off some instinct in Nayeon, and she finds herself snapping to attention. “How was the zoo yesterday?”

“Good,” Jeongyeon chirps. “Sunah let a squirrel free, though. Big mess.”

The sincerity and bashfulness with which Jeongyeon commits to her lines is almost enough to make Nayeon crack a smile. Almost.

“You’ve both returned to base unharmed?”

“Yes. Both Agent Im and I were able to infiltrate the target’s house and access his information without any issue. Agent Im’s initial brief once we left the house was correct. We did find the information we were looking for.” 

Jeongyeon continues to go over the mission, but Nayeon finds herself once again unable to focus. She’s dimly aware of Jeongyeon informing Jihyo of the pay slip and the address they had found on it, but she can’t stop thinking about Sana. Seeing her again, on Jeongyeon’s phone nonetheless, was jarring. 

Nayeon had long come to terms with the fact that Minatozaki Sana was a relic of the past. 

The weight of Jeongyeon’s hand on her shoulder breaks her out of her droll musings. “—stay in the same spot for your next mission. Agent Im, I believe two or three more days at the cafe should be sufficient before you quit. Agent Yoo, continue on with your semester for as long as you need to pull together the cover story for investigating that address. Understood?”

Nayeon manages to answer with Jeongyeon. “Understood.” 

Jeongyeon looks at Nayeon and then back down at her phone, question clear. Nayeon shakes her head. She doesn’t even know what she’d say right now.

“There’s one more thing, Director Park.” Jeongyeon’s voice is steady, but it begins to falter as she approaches the end of her next sentence. “Once we got back to base, Agent Im and I discovered that my TA is actually—well. Your…”

_ Your. _

“Sana. Jeongyeon’s TA is Sana, and she’s using my name.” Each word unlocks a new emotion for Nayeon: anger, embarrassment, panic, helplessness. The mix swirls round and round, her body fighting between collapsing to the ground and screaming. In the end, her sweep of emotions neutralizes itself, leaving Nayeon with a distant chill to her voice. “The moment Jeongyeon remembered that I actually knew who Sana was, she began to panic and insisted we call you immediately. Why is that?”

For several seconds, the only sound in the basement is faint static from the phone. The hand on her shoulder twitches. 

“Minatozaki Sana.” Jihyo’s voice is flat.

“Yes. Maybe you remember her?”

Jihyo ignores the sarcasm in Nayeon’s voice. “Has the mission been compromised?”

“Why would—”

“No,” Jeongyeon cuts in. That damn hand on her shoulder presses again, and Nayeon lets herself be hushed. “There is no reason to believe the mission was compromised. My time manipulation powers showed no signs of anyone but us when we were gathering intel. I do a pulse to check for occupants of the house when we get home, and the security system would’ve detected someone entering once the door was locked. Her invisibility would be rendered moot for actual mission intel.”

“Sana can turn invisible?”

Jeongyeon doesn’t bother with pity this time, face skipping right to shock. Her mouth works soundlessly for a moment. “What did Sana tell you her powers were?”

“She said she could talk to fish.” Nayeon’s voice is small. They used to make aimless plans to one day visit the aquarium together so that Sana could show off. Nayeon had a ₩20,000 bet riding on Sana’s ability to make a fish spell out their names. “Based on the look on your face that was a lie.”

Jihyo speaks. “It’s not. Sana can talk to fish. She got that power when she was 13. Childhood best friend.”

“Oh.” Nayeon isn’t quite sure what else to say. “Okay.”

Jihyo speaks again, and this time Nayeon can hear nerves seeping through. “If you believe that Sana hasn’t compromised the mission, then we’ll simply need to keep it that way. My past with Ms. Minatozaki does not seem—”

“Cut the shit, Park.” An old and familiar bite returns to Jeongyeon’s words. “This is something you should’ve told Nayeon a long time ago, _ especially _ after she became your friend, let alone your top agent.”

Nayeon has never been more grateful for Jeongyeon’s lack of decorum than she is when Jihyo’s unsteady breath crackles through the phone. “Okay,” she says. A pause. “Okay.” 

The story of the Minatozaki Sana that Nayeon knows goes like this: Sana grew up the daughter of a businessman, spending just as much time watching her father pack his bags for trips as she did watching the smile bloom on his face as he’d sweep her into his arms. Her mother was a baker, worked long days and came home smelling like almonds and oranges. When Sana was fifteen, the Minatozakis left Japan, making their way to South Korea so that Sana’s father could take up a new position at his company. Sana joined the student council, tried her hand at tennis, and decided that she wanted to become a teacher. 

The years after that are only faintly known by Nayeon. She knows there’s heartbreak that lingers in them, but Sana had never brought it up. Nayeon had never deemed it important enough to ask. The most she ever uncovered was that this past lover was where Sana had gotten her only power.

Then Sana disappeared, and Nayeon had stopped learning new things about her until the day Park Jihyo told her the truth she didn’t know she was missing.

The story of the Minatozaki Sana Jihyo knows is told in a voice that wavers and stretches under the weight of a shame Nayeon does not understand until Jihyo is halfway through her story. The true story of Minatozaki Sana sweeps the earth from underneath Nayeon’s feet and sends her tumbling back into a past she had no plans of ever revisiting. 

It goes like this.

Minatozaki Sana grew up the daughter of two former Triunes, who had spent years of their lives fighting for the Japanese branch of the Agency. Several years after finding each other, after getting blanked and having to say goodbye to the careers they knew, Sana’s parents joined a resistance group, one of many that insisted the Agency was nothing more than a brainwashed military. When Sana was fifteen, her parents moved their family to South Korea, intent on picking up assignments with the resistance group’s Korean cell. Sana joined the student council, tried her hand at tennis, and decided that she wanted to become a teacher. She knew nothing of her parents’ unlawful activities. 

Sana went to university. She tried her hand at the student council and at tennis but found both of them too time consuming in the face of her studies. 

It’s here that Jihyo’s tone begins to waver. When Sana was 20, Jihyo says, she met Hwan Siyeon. 

Hwan Siyeon was a deeply sarcastic 19 year old with a passion for making the most out of the little things in life. She stumbled, literally, into Sana one day in the school’s coffee shop, making up for a coffee-ruined shirt with a bashful grin and an offer of lunch the next day. Hwan Siyeon understood Sana’s quirks, smiled at stories of perfectly charged phones and the breeze on a rainy day. She held Sana’s hand without Sana having to ask and listened when Sana’s homesickness became too much to handle. 

Hwan Sieyon, Jihyo explains, was an Agency plant, meant to grow closer to the daughter of one of the anti-Agency group’s top members. Hwan Sieyon was meant to seamlessly integrate herself into Sana’s life, find her way into the Minatozaki’s good graces, and then acquire every scrap of information she could about the resistance group’s activities. 

Hwan Siyeon, Jihyo says, was not supposed to fall in love with Minatozaki Sana. This time, Jihyo exhales Sana’s name like a damnation, and the story unfolds itself in front of Nayeon with a slow-dawning horror. 

It’s at this point that Jeongyeon begins patting her back in a rhythm that Nayeon is sure is meant to be comforting but that is just a little too stilted to be anything other than jarring. Nayeon is thankful for it. It’s the one thing that grounds her, reminds her that there is a world outside of the past Jihyo paints for her.

“One day,” Jihyo continues, “I kissed her while we were eating dinner. I shouldn’t have, but I couldn’t really help it. Sana was the first person in years that…” Her sentence trails off, completes itself with a hollow laugh. “Well, it doesn’t matter. We kissed, and Sana gained invisibility. In the end, she found out who I was, and it broke her heart. I was immediately pulled from the mission, and that was the last time I saw Sana.”

Pat. Pat. Pat. Jeongyeon’s hand is incessant. 

Nayeon tries to will away the tears crowding the corners of her eyes, the weight of what she’s learned bordering on overwhelming. Jihyo continues, voice becoming more and more emotionless with each word.

“As far as the Agency was aware, Sana hadn’t previously partaken in resistance activities, but that changed after that mission. As you’re aware, the Agency has technology that allows us to detect when a Triune uses their third S-class power. For years now, we’ve believed that the resistance groups either have similar technology or somehow have access to our feeds. It’s likely that Ms. Minatozaki fled because she learned that your kiss had made you a Triune.”

Nayeon tastes bile on the back of her tongue. The motion of Jeongyeon’s hand produces a current that cools the sweat prickling on the back of her neck.

“Sana showing up here must mean that a sect of an anti-Agency group somehow got wind of Triunes being deployed and wanted to observe the mission progress. It’s not the first time it’s happened. The Nullifiers, as they call themselves, have good intelligence.”

“Is she dangerous?” It’s the first thing Jeongyeon has said since Jihyo’s begun speaking. Anticipation twists Nayeon’s stomach. She doesn’t quite know what she’ll do if Jihyo tells her that Sana must be eliminated.

“Yes,” Jihyo says. “Terribly so, but the resistance groups don’t trend towards needless violence. It’s unlikely that Sana will try to interfere with the mission, but she will try and find out everything she can. I was able to hide all the details of this mission from record, but the fact that two Triunes were being deployed is impossible to hide. Unless she proves harmful to your safety or the success of the mission, Ms. Minatozaki is to be left unharmed, and you are to act as if nothing has changed. If she does prove a threat, you are to eliminate her. We can’t have this mission compromised. Understood?”

“Yes. Understood.”

“Good. Nayeon, if you have further questions about Sana, I’m sure Jeongyeon can answer them.” A pause. “She’s read all of the remaining reports, classified and not, from that mission. Take care.”

The end of the call is painfully abrupt, and Nayeon is left staring at the phone and feeling like she learned nothing at all. 

Jeongyeon’s hand stills. “Do you want a drink?”

“Yes. No. I don’t know,” Nayeon admits, wringing her hands.

“I’ll bring down some soju and hot chocolate and let you make the call.” Nayeon can feel Jeongyeon hesitate for a moment, and she tenses at the thought of what could come. Jeongyeon had been helpful a minute or two ago, but she doesn’t really know if she could handle hollow attempts at comfort right now. 

Thankfully, Jeongyeon turns and heads up the steps without another word. In her newfound solitude, Nayeon’s mind manages the best it can. She skims over the revision of years of her life, avoids dwelling too deeply on Jihyo keeping secrets from her. 

Instead, she latches on to something that had been said before she even learned the truth about Sana. 

_ Jihyo’s Sana, _Jeongyeon had said. Nayeon chuckles wetly. Of course. 

It turns out Sana was never really hers in the first place, was she?

//

Jeongyeon wakes up falling. The scream knotted in her throat cuts off when her back slams into the floor. 

For one long moment, Jeongyeon struggles to breathe, unable to do anything but feel the force of the impact echo through her body. The brush of something soft against her ankle sparks the first breath, and the rest quickly follow suit. Jeongyeon raises her head and begins to open her eyes before the pain makes her think better of it. 

Her eyes snap open a split second later as she remembers why exactly she had been wrenched from sleep. It only takes a second for the images she had seen on the computer screen to flash across the backs of her eyelids, and it only takes an extra second for Jeongyeon to realize that she isn’t going to go back to sleep tonight. 

Slowly, Jeongyeon becomes more aware of herself. She raises an unsteady hand to her stomach, managing a small frown when she feels just how soaked through her sleep shirt is. She pulls it away from her skin, enjoying the cool current that follows. Her fingers trace trails across the dampened plane of her stomach, sweat a tangible reminder of the fear that had raced through her veins.

Her heart trips over itself in a way that echoes in her ears, but Jeongyeon is used to this by now. She sits up slowly, feeling out of step with herself even as she rises to her feet. Lego comes readily into her arms, and Jeongyeon presses her face against her fur, feeling it stick on tear-tracked cheeks.

For a time, the nightmares had calmed down. As they had flown away from the Agency, Jeongyeon had finally felt like she could breathe again. She had even been able to fool herself when Dahyun was around. She had managed about three nights of peaceful sleep before they started up again. She misses the days when sleep was something she looked forward to. The last time she had slept properly was several weeks ago on the couch, and each night following that one had been an effort to repeat the experience. Sometimes it would work; most times it didn’t.

Jeongyeon blinks at the dim light of the clock on the stove. 3:02 a.m. Perfect. She had gotten a refreshing 4 hours of sleep. In a true show of just how her body is against her, her stomach lets out a growl right as the clock hits 3:03. 

Realizing that all she can do is work with what she’s got, she ambles into the kitchen, letting Lego go so that she can grab some instant ramen from the pantry. She fills the kettle with water, listens for the click and hiss of the stove, and waits.

She keeps her eyes as open as best she can, but even that doesn’t chase the lingering shadow of her nightmare away. It was a new one this time around, a dream of a life in which they had decided to ship Jeongyeon off to a testing facility as a child, one in which her life became sterile rooms and cold laboratory instruments. The nightmare had felt so real, so _ alive _, and even now Jeongyeon can still feel the phantom press of a scalpel along her neck. 

The high whistle of the kettle pulls her out of her stupor, and she comes to with a shiver, slapping the back of her neck to clear the sensation. 

She starts to feel a bit better as she takes a seat and begins working her way through the noodles. The longer she stays awake, the further away from her dreams she gets. Eventually, her thoughts drift to the thing that had been so arresting her waking hours. 

She glances over to the hallway and wonders if Nayeon is managing to sleep alright. The other woman had looked downright haunted after yesterday evening, regardless of how many times she said she was fine or how many stupid jokes she made after the fact. Jeongyeon’s hand tightens briefly around her chopsticks. She understands. She knows what it’s like to realize that someone you loved so much wasn’t who you thought they were, and she knows what it’s like when Jihyo is the one to call it into question. 

Watching Nayeon learn the truth about Sana had been nothing short of brutal. Nayeon’s silence on that relationship, on any of her past relationships, was all Jeongyeon needed to know that they hadn’t ended well. But she hadn’t known that Jihyo had kept Nayeon in the dark about Sana. It was nothing short of cruel, Jeongyeon mused as she stirred her noodles about, to know something that could reshape someone’s past and not tell them until you were caught in a lie. 

That, of course, seemed to be Jihyo’s preferred tactic.

The urge to cut the phone call as she watched the truth roll through Nayeon had become almost unbearable. Jeongyeon knew that in a perfect world this conversation would’ve been had late at night, words spilling from Jihyo’s lips in halting but sincere speech. And Nayeon could’ve let her emotions run wild, could’ve leaned to the side and found support in the arms of a caring friend.

Jeongyeon had no place in this equation, yet there she had been. The thought of staying was unbearable, but the thought of leaving Nayeon alone to face this felt even more unbearable still. A cornered Jihyo was not a soft one, and no one deserved to handle that alone. In the end, all she had been able to offer were pats to the back and something sweet to dull the edges of pain. 

She had come back downstairs with a shot of soju and two mugs of hot chocolate, and they had sat together on the weight bench. Nayeon had talked about anything and everything, clearly intent on moving past what had just occurred, and Jeongyeon had let her.

In the very strange and somewhat twisted way that the universe tended to operate, they really were all each other had right now. 

Her early morning musings are interrupted only by the sound of Lego darting down the hallway. A moment later, Jeongyeon hears a sleepy chuckle. She knows it can be only one person, but even then, she’s surprised when Nayeon rounds the corner into the kitchen.

Jeongyeon says nothing, too shocked to do anything other than watch the other woman sleepily shuffle closer. Her eyes are half-shut, and they seem to sweep right past Jeongyeon. She watches Nayeon fumble with a glass in the drying rack, eventually managing to get it under the faucet.

It’s funny seeing Nayeon like this, stripped of every ounce of bluster she wears so well. There’s no stress in the lines of Nayeon’s frame, no sign of the power that’s always waiting to be unleashed. It makes Jeongyeon uneasy in a very familiar way. She can’t forget who Nayeon is, who she works for, even if she does look endearing as she blindly drinks water. A few drops of it spill onto her cartoon-print pajamas. 

Jeongyeon considers saying something to make her presence known, but the sudden opening of Nayeon’s eyes takes care of that for her. Nayeon immediately chokes on her water, eliciting a laugh Jeongyeon couldn’t hold back if she tried. Her mouth struggles to settle between a grimace and a grin as she watches Nayeon beat her fist against her chest.

“Hi,” Nayeon chokes out eventually, eyes watery and voice hoarse. “You scared the shit out of me.”

“You don’t say.” Jeongyeon kicks out one of the chairs at the table. “I was just about to say something when you saw me.”

Nayeon says nothing, just dropping into the offered chair and tapping her fingers against her glass. Similarly, Jeongyeon doesn’t have anything she’s particularly inclined to share, and she returns to her noodles.

“Did you make ramen at 3 a.m.?” Nayeon’s voice is disbelieving. “Seriously?”

Jeongyeon points at her with a chopstick. “This is a judgment-free zone.”

“Says who?”

“Me. Because it’s 3 a.m.”

Nayeon hums, swirling around the water in her glass. She seems fully awake at this point. “Fair enough. Have you been up long?”

“No.” Jeongyeon shakes her head. “Woke up thirty minutes ago and found myself hungry. You?”

“I—” Nayeon clears her throat “—I just woke up and wanted water.”

It’s a lie. Jeongyeon knows it’s a lie, and based on the way Nayeon refuses to meet her eyes, Nayeon knows that she knows. It’s all too obvious why Nayeon would have trouble sleeping.

Jeongyeon considers asking—the words are on the tip of her tongue—but the fragility in Nayeon’s gaze when their eyes finally meet is deterrent enough. So instead: “Do you want some,” she asks, nodding down to her ramen. “The kettle is half-full, and there’s plenty more in the pantry.” Jeongyeon’s already standing by the time she finishes her sentence.

“Oh, sure.” The relief is palpable. “I’ll take whatever.”

They fall back into a silence that’s a bit softer than the first, and Jeongyeon feels minimal awkwardness as she waits for Nayeon’s water to boil.

Nayeon accepts the ramen with quiet thanks and turns her focus to her food. It’s nice, in a weird way. Jeongyeon is used to having only feline company during her late night wake-ups, and the presence of another person is a sufficient enough reminder that her nightmares can’t hurt her. She hopes Nayeon feels a similar strange comfort.

An idea sparks in Jeongyeon’s mind as she watches Nayeon pick her way through the ramen, and she chuckles to herself. “Do you remember that bet we made?”

“Bet?”

“For breakfast.”

Nayeon’s eyes widen in understanding, smile beginning to emerge on her lips. “You mean when you terrified her with those bugs?”

“That’s the one.” They share a laugh. “You still owe me breakfast. What do you say we go tomorrow? I think we could both use something out of the ordinary that isn’t life-threatening.”

The look Nayeon gives her is skeptical. “So you think I should boost my mood by paying for your food?”

Jeongyeon shrugs, leaning back in her chair in a show of nonchalance. “And maybe eating some delicious pancakes, but that second part is up to you.”

“You suck,” Nayeon whines, but she relents when Jeongyeon nudges at her chair. “Fine, fine! We’ll do breakfast tomorrow.”

“Excellent.”

With plans in place, they spend the next 15 minutes talking aimlessly and slowly, neither that motivated to move. Eventually though, once Nayeon’s noodles are finished and the broth has begun to cool, Nayeon stands.

“I should try and get more sleep,” she says, inclining her head towards the hallway. “Especially since we’re doing something tomorrow. Thanks for the 3 a.m. ramen. Sleep well.” She nods at Jeongyeon and begins stepping away.

“Sunah,” Jeongyeon calls. She reaches out, catching the sleeve of her pajama top. Nayeon turns with a questioning gaze. “I wanted to…” Jeongyeon can’t help but notice that Nayeon isn’t wearing her gloves, and she can’t help but notice that, if her aim had been an inch lower, she would be touching Nayeon’s hand. A sudden curiosity sweeps through Jeongyeon. What would Nayeon see if she touched her? What would it feel like, if anything?

And really—her fingers twitch—would it be that big of a deal if they finally crossed that hurdle off their list? It was bound to happen eventually. Why not now?

“Hyerim?”

Jeongyeon jolts away as if burned. “Sorry. Lack of sleep messing with my head. I just wanted to say that I’m sorry, and if you ever want to talk or whatever, just let me know.”

A beats passes. “Thanks.” Nayeon’s hand brushes over her clothed shoulder, patting several times in an uneven rhythm. Nayeon gives her a playful wink, and Jeongyeon knows she’s being mocked. “I’ll see you tomorrow for breakfast.”

//

“Remind me again of how you found this place?” Nayeon leans back against the booth with a content sigh. She’s the perfect amount of full, and she can’t remember the last time she’d had pancakes that fluffy. 

Jeongyeon smiles around her last bite of rice. “Heard one of my students talking about it before class, and then he kept talking about it after class. Figured it had to be good.” 

“Well I hope you give that kid an A on his midterm.”

“Last week he fell asleep during class and exhaled fire onto another student’s paper. He’s about equal in my karmic books.”

“Oh god.” Nayeon laughs, shaking her head. “My customers may suck, but at least none of them breathe fire at me.”

“Ah, but if they did, then you could retaliate and smack them with a leaf.” Jeongyeon leans back against the booth and crosses her hands over her stomach. “So many of your customers deserved to be smacked with a leaf.” 

Nayeon hums, nodding her agreement with a smirk. They fall into a silence after that, the kind that Nayeon is becoming more and more accustomed to around Jeongyeon these days. It’s the same one that befalls them after they exchange sleepy greetings in the morning, and it has the same weight as the one that suffuses the car on the days when Jeongyeon would drive her to work. It’s not quite comforting, but it is familiar. Nayeon’s beginning to think those may very well be the same thing. 

After a few more minutes of silent coexistence, Jeongyeon flags down their waitress, taking far too much pleasure in asking her to bring the check and to _ pretty please give it to my friend sitting across from me. _

Nayeon hands over her card with nothing less than a withering glare sent Jeongyeon’s way. It is, of course, returned with a beaming grin that Nayeon is beginning to suspect was crafted specifically to annoy her. She crumples up her napkin and flings it at Jeongyeon’s face, pleased when it reaches its target.

“Hey!” Jeongyeon jabs a finger in her direction. “Don’t make a mess!” She picks up the napkin and drops it on her tray, and all Nayeon can do is laugh. The deep offense in Jeongyeon’s voice, the pout on her lips, the furrow to her brow. It’s all so perfectly _ Jeongyeon, _and it tightens something in her chest until it snaps. She feels wide-awake, all drowsiness melting away in the face of the warmth suddenly cascading over her. 

It clicks in that moment, as she watches Jeongyeon’s pout become something softer, and the moment it clicks is the moment she knows she should’ve seen this coming. They’re friends now, or at least as close to being friends as two people can be in their situation. They hadn’t talked about work once today, and Nayeon hadn’t even noticed until just now.

It’s everything she never wants from a mission partner. Her chest tightens again.

Jeongyeon leans forward, elbows coming to rest on the linoleum tabletop. “I’m glad we had our 3 a.m. run in. Frankly, I think it’s a crime you haven’t paid for my breakfast sooner.” And just like that, with a scoff and a kick at Jeongyeon’s shins under the table, Nayeon slips back into forgetting that this is something to worry about. 

Jeongyeon asks that they stay until she’s finished her cup of coffee, and Nayeon obliges with no more than a remark about how she could make a better drink with her eyes closed. It’s only when Jeongyeon begins patting down her jacket to make sure she hasn’t left anything behind that Nayeon is compelled to ask the question that’s been simmering in the back of her mind.

“Do you sleep on the couch every night?” Jeongyeon stills, eyes flickering up to meet Nayeon’s. “I just… I know you’ve been having trouble sleeping, but I didn’t realize it was that bad.”

Jeongyeon gives her a lopsided smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. Nayeon doesn’t miss the way the fabric of Jeongyeon’s pocket twitches; she can see the outline of a fist. “You know me. Sleep schedule all over the place. I’ve had better luck with the couch. Don’t worry. My work won’t be affected.”

“I’m not…” Nayeon trails off, nails tapping against linoleum. She sighs. “I’m not asking because I’m worried about your work, Hyerim. I’m worried about _ you. _It’s not healthy.”

Silence. Nayeon tamps down the urge to fidget under Jeongyeon’s blank stare. She lets her eyes drop, listens to the sound of the waitstaff taking orders and of clanging from the kitchen. She starts counting to ten, lets the silence in between each second be another moment for Jeongyeon to think about how she wants to answer the question. When she’s at 7, Jeongyeon speaks.

“I used to sleep fine.” Jeongyeon lets out a small laugh. Nayeon feels the telltale electricity that comes with Jeongyeon using her powers. “But life happened, you know? My nightmares would come and go based on my workload.” Jeongyeon bites her lip, drops her hand onto the table. The silverware clatters and rings, sound harsh against Nayeon’s ears. “As you saw, they came back in full force once we actually started training. They tapered off just a bit once we got settled, but they came back pretty quickly. And after our latest mission…”

“The stuff on Nishi’s computer?” Jeongyeon nods. “Can I ask what it was?”

“Experiments. Live footage.” Jeongyeon’s inhale is shaky, but her exhale is slow and steady. It ruffles the napkins between them. “They’re drugging the hell out of people, trying to manipulate their feelings and force a power manifestation. They make them hallucinate, and they hook them up to equipment to monitor brain waves and fuck with neurotransmitters.” Jeongyeon’s hands clench into fists, knuckles whitening. Disgust carves itself across her face. “They’ve been doing autopsies on the bodies of dead Triunes and people who’ve been blanked. Who’s to say those deaths are natural, you know?”

Her tongue feels heavy, throat dry with recognition of what Jeongyeon is describing.

“I’m sorry,” Nayeon says, voice soft. She reaches across the table to take Jeongyeon’s hand but thinks better of it at the last second, pulling her hand back to rest on the table. “I took down one of their labs a while back. I interrupted one of their experiments. The team there got away before I could do anything, but I’ll never forget it.”

Jeongyeon’s eyebrows raise. “That’s why you were so tense when we had our first meeting.”

“What?”

Jeongyeon nods to herself. “When Jihyo was going through the slides, you stopped breathing at the one that showed an old lab. I tried to get Jihyo to go to the next slide faster with a question, but it didn’t really work.”

“Oh.”

“How did you deal with it?”

“Time.” Nayeon exhales through her nose. “Just time. The same way I deal with all the other fucked up shit I see on my missions.”

“Ah.” Jeongyeon laughs. “Time doesn’t really work when you keep encountering fucked up shit, does it?”

“I think it does,” Nayeon muses. “I think you just get more used to things.”

“Not me,” Jeongyeon says, shrugging. “After what happened with Jihyo, I think I just stopped feeling safe in my own skin. Trusting people, let alone the Agency, became almost impossible.”

The bluntness takes Nayeon aback. She wants to ask what exactly went down between Jeongyeon and Jihyo all those years ago, but she knows better by now. “So how do we help your nightmares? We’re not exactly in the spot to get you a therapist because we won’t be around much longer, but if our next mission is more long-term, that’s an option.”

“Maybe.” The way Jeongyeon’s lips curl around the word means _ No. _ “I just need to figure out how to feel safe again.”

The words tumble out before Nayeon can think better of them. “I’ll keep you safe.” Jeongyeon looks at her like she’s slightly unhinged, and, as Nayeon registers what she just said, she thinks that may be a fair judgment. But she can’t back down now. “I will. It’s my job as mission leader.”

“Stopping my nightmares isn’t in the mission leader job description.”

“What about in a friend’s?”

Jeongyeon’s eyebrows shoot up. “A friend?” As much as she wants to, Nayeon can’t blame her for the incredulity in her voice. She feels much the same, but she’s never been one to not finish what she started, no matter how ill-advised and poorly thought through of a start it was. 

“You did call me a friend when asking for the check,” Nayeon points out. “Besides, what else do you call someone you have ramen with at 3 a.m.?”

“A fellow insomniac, obviously.” The teasing lilt to Jeongyeon’s voice and the soft set of her eyes tell Nayeon that she’s going to come out of this exchange victorious.

“Listen, I understand that it must be hard to accept being friends with someone who is so obviously out of your league, but I really—” Jeongyeon returns the napkin-to-the-face favor, managing to get the napkin in Nayeon’s mouth as she speaks.

Nayeon splutters, swiping at her mouth to remove the crumpled napkin. By the time she’s done, Jeongyeon is up and out of her seat, laughing down at her. Nayeon feels the time bubble drop, and Jeongyeon speaks before she can manage a retort. “Come on, bestie. Let’s get out of here. We have a cat to feed.”

It strikes Nayeon speechless, and by the time she’s able to respond with a _ I think I’d like to reconsider this friendship thing _, Jeongyeon is already halfway out the door.

//

“Has your roommate had more shitty customers this week?”

Jeongyeon would like to say that going back to work had been a revelation. She’d love to tell herself that _ yes, of course _ it was obvious that Sana was there to keep tabs on her and Nayeon for Nullifiers. She’d love to go _ ah, yes, this all makes perfect sense _, but she can’t. 

Sana is good at her job. The questions she asks are normal, casual, and maybe only one in every ten have anything to do with Nayeon or something that could hint at what their mission is. Jeongyeon searches her face, traces over features she is now eerily familiar with. She feels like she should be able to see something in Sana’s gaze when she asks after Nayeon, some sort of hidden emotion that Jeongyeon can unlock now that she knows the truth of it all.

Instead, Sana sends her a perfect smile, face giving away nothing. It would almost be easy to forget just exactly who she is. 

“A few assholes here and there, but nothing out of the ordinary. That spill I told you about seemed to get rid of the worst offender.”

It’s been a week since the truth of Sana’s identity had been revealed, and in that week, Jeongyeon had been tempted time and again to try and further investigate Sana. It was only Jihyo’s order to not engage that kept her from doing so. It would be so easy to try and do the same thing Sana was doing to her: sprinkling in questions with a hidden intent. 

“That’s awesome. I know she had been having a streak of jerks.”

In a way, they were running out of time. In a few days, her and Nayeon would be conducting a raid on the warehouse called out on Nishi’s documents. Once that was set, it would be over. Nayeon had already quit her job, and Jeongyeon was preparing the documentation they would need for their covers. She had also been working on the papers she would need to fake a severe illness and beg off of the rest of her semester. 

“Did you end up finishing off the midterms?”

“Oh yeah! Let me grab those.”

Sana flashes her a blinding grin before reaching into her bag, and Jeongyeon can’t help but feel a deep sense of reluctant respect for Sana. It’s not every day one has the opportunity to share coffee with the woman who had broken the hearts of two of the most powerful Triunes in existence. Jeongyeon thinks that, if not for the fact that she knows those two Triunes and the scars Sana has left on them, she might just congratulate her.

Instead, she settles for taking the graded midterms with a smile, pushing her untouched muffin across the table in exchange. Sana takes it, sending Jeongyeon a grin sweet enough to kill a man.

//

“Your hat is on backwards.” 

Nayeon looks up from the clipboard she had been studying. “What?”

Jeongyeon reaches up with a laugh and spins Nayeon’s hard hat around. “Your hat. I think you’d give us away if you walked in pretending to be a code inspector and your hat was on backwards.”

“Oh.” Nayeon’s cheeks heat up. “Well maybe I’d just convince them it’s the latest in safety regulations.”

Jeongyeon snorts, reaching out to steady herself on the railing as she climbs the steps leading up to the warehouse. She stops halfway up, turning around to face Nayeon with a serious set to her jaw. “Actually.” Jeongyeon walks back down the steps until she’s in front of Nayeon once more. “Are you alright?”

Nayeon blinks. “What? Is this because of the hat? It’s really—”

“No, not just the hat.” Jeongyeon’s eyes are kind, but Nayeon still feels a prick of indignation. “It’s you walking right by me in the kitchen. It’s you not sleeping. It’s our last spar where I took you down in—”

“Okay!” Nayeon takes a deep breath, crossing her arms. “First, I would appreciate you not deciding to critique me right as we’re about to start a mission. Second, no agent is perfect all the time, even me. It’s fine. I’ll wear my stupid hat correctly.”

Jeongyeon is undeterred. “I’m not critiquing you. I’m worried. I know this Sana thing has to be a lot to handle. It’s okay not to be okay, but I need to know you’re fine to do this mission.”

“I’m fine,” Nayeon grits out, brushing by Jeongyeon. “And I would appreciate you taking more discretion when we’re in public.”

“There’s a time bubble up.”

Nayeon almost trips over the next step. Had she really failed to register that sensation?

“I’ll let it go, but just be careful, okay?” Jeongyeon comes to a stop next to her, and this time Nayeon does feel her power as the bubble drops. “Are you ready to go in?” 

Nayeon plasters on a grin, holds up her clipboard, and taps on her badge, which displays an ID from a company Jeongyeon had spent the last couple days social engineering into existence. “All set.”

All told, Nayeon thinks the plan is a relatively simple one. Most of the work had been taken care of by Jeongyeon at this point. Something about property records and inspection dates that Nayeon had tuned out in favor of focusing on the movie they had been watching at the time. From what had managed to filter through Nayeon’s lack of attention, she knew that Jeongyeon had modified some property records, making it so that the building needed to be inspected five years earlier than it actually did. 

All they need to do is stroll into the warehouse, look around a few areas, and make their way to the main office. Once again, Nayeon vaguely remembers Jeongyeon saying something about building blueprints she had gotten from the city.

Jeongyeon interrupts Nayeon’s musings. “There’s about 100 people inside. Probably 30 of them are guards.”

“Seems a bit like overkill.”

“Not if they’re hiding something. Now, shape up. We’re going in.”

Getting into the warehouse gets off without a hitch. The IDs Jeongyeon had made process through the security office’s computers without a problem. The warehouse manager leads them through the floor, running through production numbers and pointing out recent safety features they’ve introduced. Over the next 45 minutes, they make their way through the warehouse with a set of prepared questions and some nonsensical scribbles onto their clipboards. Nayeon makes note of the guard patrols as they move deeper and deeper into the warehouse. If all goes to plan, they shouldn’t have any issues with the guards, but Nayeon prefers to be prepared.

Eventually, they’re left to their own devices, promising the warehouse manager that it shouldn’t take more than an hour to complete their independent review. From there, it’s easy enough to make their way back to the main office, and it’s even easier to tell the three employees milling about the area that their boss needs to speak with them. The moment they clear the doorway, Jeongyeon throws up a time bubble.

Nayeon reaches for the watch on her wrist. “Starting the clock now. Giving us 55 minutes.”

Jeongyeon gives her a mindless thumbs up, already making her way to one of the computers. Nayeon follows behind, watching her settle into a chair and pull something out of her pocket. 

“It’s the password cracker I was telling you about,” Jeongyeon explains, cutting off the question Nayeon was going to ask. “All of the standard operating systems have a flaw that’s easy to exploit if you know what you’re doing.”

Nayeon takes a moment to observe Jeongyeon at work. “Was this something you learned when you were younger?”

Jeongyeon answers in a way that tells Nayeon she only has about 25% of her attention, voice airy and head bobbing. “Yup. Jihyo and I had two main handlers. One of them, Glasses, taught me pretty much everything I know about computer systems. So he’s the reason I know how to do— Hm.” Nayeon watches Jeongyeon’s shoulders tense. “That’s not… Huh.”

Nayeon puts her hands on the back of Jeongyeon’s chair and leans in closer, as if she can make sense of the code on screen. “What’s wrong?”

Jeongyeon huffs, leaning closer to the screen. “It’s not working.” Nayeon hears more typing and a few muttered curses. “There are other ways to do it, but I just expected this to work. I’ll need to take some more time to get the accounting passwords and access storage records.” She nods her head to the opposite wall. “You can probably start looking through the cabinets.”

Nayeon glances over at the floor-to-ceiling wall of filing cabinets. “Can’t you just x-ray it or something? There’s like a hundred drawers.”

“Nope.” Jeongyeon pops her ‘p’. “Pretty sure my eyes would go straight into fatigue if I tried coherently scanning through thousands of pieces of paper.”

“Fair enough,” Nayeon says. “The last thing we need is power burnout. Let me know when you find something that could help narrow the search, alright?”

“I will. The records should give me a physical filing location once I can access them.”

The search is as fruitless as Nayeon thought it would be, but she continues on diligently. There seems to be no rhyme or reason to the information kept in the filing cabinets, but one thing that’s certain is that this warehouse does not exactly serve the purpose it claims to. There are redacted files galore in these cabinets, and while Nayeon would love to take a good look at them, she doesn’t have the time. Right now, she’s mostly looking for a date sometime after the one on the delivery slip. 

About 15 minutes later, Nayeon hears Jeongyeon let out a noise of triumph. A second later. “Cabinet K, Drawer 5! There’s no scan or anything saved on the computer, but the sender matches Nishi’s info. I also have some of their financial documents.”

Nayeon looks up from the drawer she’s currently skimming through and makes her way to the spot. “It’s locked,” she says, pulling at the handle. Distantly, she hears Jeongyeon acknowledge the comment, but she chooses instead to focus on grabbing a lock pick set from her vest. They may have been hideously yellow, but the vests made up for it with copious pockets. 

Nayeon recognizes the lock, one of the higher end models that usually took a couple minutes to crack—a pointless measure when you have the power of time on your side. She gets to work, ignoring the sound of Jeongyeon coming up behind her and instead letting her years of practice guide her through the lock. 

Two minutes later, with the aid of her pick and torsion wrench, the drawer lets out a click and slides open. “I’m impressed, Im.” Jeongyeon steps closer, peering down at the lock pick in Nayeon’s hand. “Didn’t know you had that talent.”

Nayeon turns, taking in the genuine surprise on Jeongyeon’s face. She smirks, lifts her lock pick to tap it against Jeongyeon’s cheek. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Yoo.” Jeongyeon raises an eyebrow, but Nayeon doesn’t miss the slight curl to her lips. “Now come on. Let’s find some paper.”

Jeongyeon holds out an arm. “I can do this part,” she says. “No power burnout for just a drawer. Patrol the perimeter?”

Nayeon blinks. “We’re in a time bubble. What’s there to patrol?”

“The outside of it. See if anyone is being a pest at the door. It’ll help to know what we’re in for once we leave. The bubble stops at the end of the hallway. Too suspicious if I freeze the entire plant.”

Nayeon sets off, taking in the frozen office workers with a small amount of amusement. Jeongyeon had timed it well, freezing them right behind a corner so that they weren’t as easy to view. Nayeon turns the corner, intent on walking to the end of the hallway and back and calling it good. When she reaches the end of the hallway, she feels something brush against her skin. It prickles, a bit softer than when Jeongyeon activates or deactivates her powers, and Nayeon assumes she’s at the boundary.

She makes her way back, telling Jeongyeon they’re all clear and taking leaning against one of the desks to watch her stare at a filing cabinet. A few seconds later, Jeongyeon tenses, shoulders drawing together as she shakes her head. 

Jeongyeon turns towards her, and the look on her face makes Nayeon’s heart stop. “Nayeon, my p—”

Nayeon senses the invisible punch heading for her gut just a second too late. She only has the time to exhale before she’s doubled over by the force of the blow. She reaches out to grab at the offending hand, but she finds herself jolted back by a shock. 

The plants in the office don’t answer her call. They’re lifeless now, like those awful plastic plants so many people use, but they had been buzzing when they first walked in. She tries to speak, but the muscles in her torso are spasming wildly, leaving her able to do nothing more than clutch at her chest and shiver.

“Sana.” Jeongyeon’s voice sounds distant. “What the fuck did you do?”

Nayeon feels like she’s having a heart attack. She can’t control her muscles, and the only thing she can focus on is the frantic beating of her heart, the way she feels like the world is spinning around her, pulling her deeper and deeper into the earth until she disappears. 

Jeongyeon says something else—her name, maybe—but the next thing to actually punctuate Nayeon’s thoughts is a loud crackling and a flash of yellow. 

“I really thought this would be harder.” Nayeon sees a pair of feet step into her vision, and it’s then that she realizes she’s on the floor. She recognizes this voice. “Im Nayeon and Yoo Jeongyeon are supposed to be the Agency’s best. Yet you were subdued so easily.”

Nayeon can breathe again now. She takes a deep breath, then another. Her eyes track Sana’s steps. She looks past them to a figure crumpled against the filing cabinets and realizes with a jolt that it’s Jeongyeon. 

Nayeon clenches and releases her hands, curling a bit tighter into herself. Her head is pounding, but she lets herself embrace the rhythm, lets it drive her forward. Sana is standing over Jeongyeon now, reaching down to shuffle through the papers that surround her. 

She stumbles to her feet, managing to be quiet enough that Sana doesn’t notice. Nayeon allows herself just one second to acknowledge that this is the first time she’s seeing Sana in almost a decade. Then, she takes a deep breath and sprints forward to return her greeting.

Jeongyeon gets there first. Her leg snaps out, knee driving itself into Sana’s shin. Sana flinches, and Nayeon pushes herself to move faster. She arrives just in time to clip Sana’s shoulder with a punch. She attempts to grab at the cloth of her shirt, but Sana is too slippery. Nayeon barely catches the smirk she sends her before Sana fades from view. 

She pushes her back against the filing cabinets and braces for another attack, but nothing comes.

Jeongyeon staggers to her feet, clutching her side. There’s no blood coming from what Nayeon knows must be a harsh scrape, and her only thought is that Sana’s electricity must’ve cauterized it. Jeongyeon reaches out towards her as she moves, and Nayeon meets her halfway. They instantly turn, back-to-back, stepping slowly away from the filing cabinets. 

If the document they still need is in there, the last thing Nayeon needs is for it to get destroyed. 

“Damage?”

“Minimal,” Jeongyeon grits out. “Just hurts. You?” 

“I’m okay now.”

A rough exhale. “Close your eyes.”

“What?” Nayeon in fact has no intention of closing her eyes, instead preferring to scan the room for any sign of Sana. All she needs is a slight rustle of the paper scattered about the floor, and then she can make her move.

“Oh yes. Please do that.” Sana’s voice rings out from across the room, and Nayeon whips around to look in that direction. Nothing, of course. “It would make things so much easier. While you’re at it, mind telling me which piece of paper you were looking at? Thanks.”

Jeongyeon continues on, calm. “You’ve been friends with Jihyo for years. I know she’s made you spar her with a blindfold on, so close your goddamn eyes.” Jeongyeon ends her sentence by grabbing Nayeon’s hand, and Nayeon flinches in surprise before realizing that her powers aren’t going to be triggered.

Seeing Sana again had thrown her, causing a momentary lapse in memory. But Nayeon remembers now, remembers exactly who she is and what she’s accomplished. Nayeon has awards, commendations, more random things named after her than she could even begin to list, and—she squeezes Jeongyeon’s hand to let her know she’s ready—someone at her back. 

Her eyes slip shut, and her focus narrows. She’s aware of two things: Jeongyeon’s fingers resting against her palm, and the sounds of her own breathing. She digs deeper, blocks out the noises she knows and listens for ones out of place. 

She can feel Jeongyeon’s pulse through her fingertips.

There’s a sound so soft that Nayeon almost second guesses it, but then Jeongyeon’s finger moves in the same direction on her palm. It comes again. Louder now. Closer. She hears the crackle of electricity and her mind goes blank. 

She ducks, letting Jeongyeon’s hand drop so that she can roll underneath the punch she sensed coming. Unbalanced footsteps follow the dodged blow, and Nayeon lashes out with a sweep. 

Nayeon makes contact with something solid, but the hit comes with a shock that travels up through her thighs and leaves a numbness in its wake. She knows that she’s at least made Sana stumble, but she can’t make her legs move to follow-up on it.

“This won’t hurt too bad,” Sana whispers, far too close to her ear. Nayeon throws an elbow in that direction, but it’s hit away. A crackling noise and the smell of burnt hair are all Nayeon has to warn her of Sana’s attack.

Nayeon lashes out one more time, bursting upwards and swinging wide with a punch. She doesn’t hit a thing.

But Jeongyeon does. 

The other woman hurtles across the room, slamming into the space above Nayeon. The way she impacts tells Nayeon that she’s hit the mark. 

Someone yells out in pain, but Nayeon can’t begin to parse who before Jeongyeon is falling to the floor, smoke rising from somewhere on her body. 

Jeongyeon lifts her head, giving Nayeon a bloodied grin. “Whiteout.”

Nayeon turns and sees a floating patch of white. 

Nayeon knows how tall Sana is. 

“Stop while you’re ahead, Sana.”

A laugh. The blotch speeds towards her. 

Elbow. Uppercut. Knee. Nayeon blocks them all, returning a few of her own hits in between. 

It’s a fight she knows she can win now. Jeongyeon had hit center mass, which meant all Nayeon needed to do was watch and listen. If Sana activated her shocking grasp, Nayeon knew exactly where her limbs were.

Duck. Roll. Spin.

Nayeon feels her punch slam into Sana’s jaw, snapping her neck back. Specks of red join the floating white.

Suddenly, the white disengages from her, dashing over to Jeongyeon, who still lies crumpled on the ground. The upper half of Jeongyeon’s body lifts up as if of its own volition. Nayeon watches a blade and hand materialize below Jeongyeon’s jaw. 

Jeongyeon spits out a glob of blood, and another piece of red floats in the air. “This isn’t very nice. Aren’t you all supposed to be nice?”

Sana laughs, presses the blade closer. “We are. To those we deem worthy. Now my question for you, Yoo Jeongyeon. Aren’t you supposed to care?”

Jeongyeon tenses. 

“You could join us, you know? We don’t betray our own, leave them to rot as it pleases us. I’ve never had to kill someone and not know the reason why. I promise you that we would take care of you. Keep you safe.”

Jeongyeon’s hand twitches towards her vest. Something slaps it down. “Why the fuck would I trust you?”

“I read your file. The real one. What happened between you and Park was a hot gossip item for years around the Agency. You may have deleted yourself from history, but people remember.”

“Oh.” Jeongyeon’s voice is thin. “I see, and you think you’re better than us?”

“Us? So Jihyo did brainwash you a second time?”

Two things happen at the same time: One, Jeongyeon throws her head back, and bright red blossoms in the air, right about where Nayeon knows Sana’s nose would be. Two, Nayeon realizes she can feel the plants in the room again.

The hand holding the knife goes slack, and Jeongyeon scrambles away, sliding behind a desk.

Nayeon hurls vines at Sana from all angles, and for a moment, her vision is green. Just as quickly as they appeared, the vines burn away, and Sana stands before her.

“I suppose there’s no point in hiding anymore,” she says, arms lighting up. 

Nayeon dodges behind a desk, wincing at the crash of Sana’s bolt against the floor. She takes a deep breath and calls the remaining plants to wrap around her limbs. 

She can’t beat Sana head on, but she can redirect.

Nayeon dashes out, immediately ducking under another bolt. Sana is 20 feet away.

Nayeon attaches a vine to the floor, hurtles the other end at Sana. Her bolt strikes clean, burning up the vine but letting Nayeon advance.

17 feet.

Dodging Sana feels like dancing. Feels like dodging jets of water from Jihyo or water balloons from Jeongyeon.

13 feet. Nayeon notices just how much blood streaks down Sana’s shirt.

Elephant ears spring to life in front of her, blocking her from Sana’s view just long enough to sprint to the left and throw a vine out to the right. 

Sana looks right. Nayeon moves ahead.

9 feet. Nayeon smiles.

A bolt comes for her feet, melts her shoes just slightly as she leaps out of the way. 

Nayeon flies, closing the distance between them before Sana can even register the movement. Nayeon doesn’t stop until she feels Sana’s body curve into a filing cabinet. She tries to back away before Sana can retaliate, but the searing pain that greets her as she tries marks that as a failure.

Nayeon stumbles backwards with a hiss.

3 feet.

“You don’t have to do this, Nayeon,” Sana says, hands crackling to life once more. Nayeon answers by attempting to wrap poison ivy around Sana’s legs. The smell of burnt plants fills the room once more. 

Nayeon needs Sana to stay distracted. She has a thorned vine ready to burst from a potted plant across the room. She just needs enough time to get it around Sana’s hands. 

All at once, Sana freezes.

“Thank fuck.” Nayeon turns to see a thoroughly annoyed and well-singed Jeongyeon. She's walking, which is a good sign, but Nayeon can see several burns that will need tending to once they're done here. “I think you were well on your way to winning, but I figured I’d help.”

Nayeon lets her plants fall. “Are all of your powers back?”

Jeongyeon grabs a pad of paper from one of the desks. “Let’s find out, shall we?” Nayeon watches Jeongyeon sketch for a moment before pulling out what appears to be a length of rope. “You once morbidly asked me,” Jeongyeon begins, uncoiling the rope, “if I could freeze certain parts of the body. The answer is yes. I can freeze and unfreeze Sana as I need to move her around to get the rope around her. If I did it too much or for too long, it could really fuck up her circulation.”

Nayeon nods along, entranced as she watches Jeongyeon move about.

“There,” Jeongyeon says, stepping away. “The knots are secure. Hands at a distance from any clothing. Rubber to prevent shock.”

“Do you do this often,” Nayeon asks. 

Jeongyeon shrugs with a mirthless smile. “I don’t try and make a habit out of it, but it doesn’t hurt to know how to contain a threat.”

“Do you know what the hell happened?” Nayeon calls up one of the few remaining plants, letting it curl around her wrist. “How the hell did she get past your perimeter to neutralize our powers?”

Jeongyeon laughs, wipes at the blood trickling out of her mouth. “Power suppressant gas. Never encountered it before, but I guess it doesn’t last nearly as long as Jihyo’s stuff. I would’ve just let it right in as part of maintaining air flow. You ready to talk to her?”

Nayeon nods. “Ready.”

Sana comes to life, suddenly, jaw falling slack as she realizes what’s going on. Her mouth moves, but no words manage to come out. 

Jeongyeon takes a step towards Sana. “Now,” she says, voice cold, “let’s talk about you.”

“Wait.” Nayeon puts her hand on Jeongyeon’s shoulder. “Let me. Go finish getting the documents. I can handle her.”

Jeongyeon turns away without a word, leaving Sana to Nayeon. Nayeon steps forward, promising herself that she’ll make this as quick as she can. 

“Not putting up a fight,” Nayeon asks. 

Sana laughs, high and clear, making no move to break free. “What would be the point? That suppression gas was the only chance I had against both of you. You’ve paint tagged me. I have no recourse. Tell me, Nayeon. What do you want?” Sana used to say those words to her a lot when they were still together, be it at a takeout place or as they stumbled into Nayeon’s bedroom. 

“I want answers, of course.” Nayeon crosses her arms, ignoring the strain. “I want to know why you’ve infiltrated this mission, why your group is even interested in this case, and I want to know why the hell I shouldn’t haul you in to be interrogated until you’re 84.”

Sana’s face betrays none of what she’s thinking. “I take it you’re not going to go for a bribe.”

Nayeon lets her powers do the talking, taking dark pleasure in the red that streaks across Sana’s cheek when one of Nayeon’s thorned vines lashes out. “That one wasn’t poisoned, but the next one easily can be.”

Another pause. Nayeon can see Sana doing the math, weighing the pros and cons of cooperation.

“Someone on the board is corrupt,” Sana says, leaning back against the wall. “Someone on the board is corrupt and helping X. We knew that he had connections in Japan, so when we got word of two Triunes coming here, we knew we had to track them.”

“How did you know I was one of them?”

Sana smiles, slow and easy, like it’s a decade ago and she’s looking at Nayeon across the floor of a crowded party. “I was at the airport when you two landed. I recognized you immediately. You’ve barely aged a day.”

It’s a lie so blatant that Nayeon’s nails begin to bite into her palm. Her years with the Agency have worn on her, sketched lines onto her face and given her an almost permanent air of refined resignation that certainly was not present when Sana was still in her life. “And the name,” she grits out.

“Ah.” The smile kicks up a notch. Even bound in rope, Sana looks relaxed as ever. Nayeon wonders what it would take to shatter her facade. “Just something fun for me.”

_ Just something fun. _Nayeon lets the hurt wash over her and sink into the pit of her stomach. She’s come too far, done too much, to be felled by something as simple as a flippant (and deadly) ex-lover. “You mentioned the board.”

“Oh yes,” Sana says. Her smile doesn’t falter. “Surely Jihyo would’ve realized by now. This is partially an inside job. My team and I wanted to make sure you two weren’t being sent to further X’s aims. I realized quickly that you two were trying to get information from Nishi, not work with him.” At Nayeon’s surprised look she adds: “Invisibility is a great tool for recon. Yoo spoke of you often. It wasn’t hard to figure out where you worked and monitor some of your interactions with him.”

Every mention of the secrets Nayeon had never known stokes the fire in her belly hotter and hotter. It mixes with the nausea in her stomach at the thought that Sana had been spying on her at work. 

“Then why did you stay? Why attack us now?” Nayeon is proud of how steady her voice is.

Sana leans forward now, lets the smile on her lips dim into something a little softer, a little sharper. Once again, it’s a look Nayeon knows well. “Well like I said, you’re not the only ones interested in what’s going on with X. We could do more good with that information than the Agency ever could. Besides, how could I turn down the opportunity to reconnect with an old friend? I always thought it was a shame how we lost touch all those years ago.”

It’s too much. Nayeon feels the threads holding onto her professionalism snap. They’ve been wavering for over a week now, drawn taut at the knowledge that Jihyo had hidden something from her for the entirety of their friendship. She can’t stand the sight of Sana smirking at her as she deliberately pokes at old wounds. 

Nayeon has tried to move on, has done her best to ball up her feelings over what happened with Sana and stick them in the darkest recesses of her mind. It’s all too easy for those feelings to spring forth once more now that Sana is here in front of her.

“How dare you?” She lunges forward, stalking across the room until she’s standing over Sana. “How fucking dare you,” she hisses. The satisfaction of seeing Sana’s eyes widen in shock gets lost among the fury swirling in her gut. “You’re supposed to be a consummate professional, aren’t you? Where do you get off throwing our past in my face?” In the back of her mind, Nayeon knows that this is not how she should behave, but she can’t stop herself. She doesn’t know if she’ll ever get another chance at this catharsis.

“You left without a word. You walked out of my life and left me behind to deal with your sudden absence.” Nayeon takes another step closer until her shins are almost bumping into Sana’s knees. “I used to wonder how you could kiss me like you love me one day, give me a _ power _ nonetheless, and then turn around and sneak out in the middle of the night. I get it now, though. It’s just a game to you, isn’t it? We were just a game for you? Some amusement to help you get over Jih—”

“That’s not true!” Sana struggles against the rope, attempting to stand, but Jeongyeon’s knots are too thorough. She falls back against the wall and speaks again, almost pleading. “Nayeon, I loved you. After Jihyo, I didn’t think I could really trust someone again, but I did with you. I got the alert to my phone that you had become a Triune, and I knew I had to go. I hated leaving you. It’s one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do.”

“Not as hard as staying, apparently.”

“I wasn’t it for you, Nayeon,” Sana whispers, chin dropping to her chest. “It was better that I left you then instead of making you choose between a career you could love versus a dead-end love.” Sana raises her head, locks eyes with Nayeon. “You wanted the stars, and I couldn’t give you that.”

Nayeon laughs, low and hollow. “I didn’t want this.” She gestures at herself, at her the bruises littering her arms and the dead plants scattered across the room. “I didn’t want the stars. I wanted you.”

Sana says nothing.

“You didn’t have to leave. You could’ve stayed. We could’ve talked. You could’ve not shattered me so thoroughly that I broke down in front of Jihyo and felt like I had no choice but to go with her.” Nayeon takes a shaky breath. “I get it. You were scared. So was I.” Nayeon looks up towards the ceiling, tries to steady herself against its stark whiteness. Her rage is dissipating now, feeling less like a weight around her neck and more like freedom. “You were right though,” she continues. “It seems you were too much of a coward for me.”

The silence hangs heavy in the room, and Nayeon can find nothing further inside herself to fill it with. She can see Sana struggling for a response, but she doesn’t really want to hear it. There’s nothing left to say, nothing left to explain. 

In the quiet, she hears footsteps approaching loud and clear. It’s a sudden reminder that she and Sana are not the only occupants of this room, and the world rushes in as Jeongyeon places a gentle hand on the small of her back. The warmth of her palm bleeds through various rips in Nayeon’s shirt.

“We have the information we need, Agent Im. Once you decide how you want to wrap up loose ends here, we may leave.” It’s as serious as Nayeon has ever heard Jeongyeon, and it takes her a second to understand what she means. 

Jihyo’s order had been clear. As long as Sana remained non-hostile, she was to be left alone. At the first sign of threat, she was to be eliminated. 

Nayeon tastes copper as she runs her tongue over her bottom lip. She reaches into her holster and withdraws a knife, crouching down to be at eye-level with Sana. 

Sana looks at her without fear, with nothing but fruitless remorse. “I’m sorry, Nayeon. I really do wish—” Sana’s words are cut short by the sound of the knife slicing through the rubber rope.

“Go. If you interfere with our work ever again, I won’t be as lenient.”

Sana looks like she wants to say something but then thinks better of it. She smiles. “You have nothing to worry about with me. Good luck, Nayeon. Take care.” Sana begins to fade from view, but halfway through, she stops.

“Wow. That looks even weirder than I imagined,” Jeongyeon says, taking a step forward to look at Sana’s transparent form. Her lower half is already invisible, and what remains is very faint. “I’ll let her and everyone else out of stasis once we’re in the car.”

“Okay,” Nayeon says gruffly. “Let’s clean up and get out of here.”

//

Nayeon’s heart rate only returns to normal once they begin driving away from the warehouse. The hypnotic rhythms of driving soothe her, but she can’t help but notice Jeongyeon shifting in her seat out of the corner of her eye. She braces herself for a question about what happened back there, and she passes by three more exits on the highway before it happens. 

“According to Jihyo, Sana should be dead right now. Why didn’t you eliminate her?”

Nayeon rolls her fingers across the steering wheel. “There’s nothing else for her to do. Threat eliminated.”

Jeongyeon shifts again. Nayeon hears the rustle of a receipt she had thrown to the floor earlier today. “You were ordered to kill her.”

“I’m more than a directive, Jeongyeon.” A yellow light goes red sooner than expected, and they both jolt forward as Nayeon slams on the breaks. 

“I know that,” Jeongyeon says, adjusting her seatbelt straps. She swallows. “I was just surprised.”

“Would you have stopped me?”

“Yes.”

Nayeon laughs, presses down on the gas pedal. “Then I guess it doesn’t really matter what I chose, does it?”

“Of course it does.” Nayeon hears the thunk of Jeongyeon’s head coming to rest on the car window. “It’s the only thing that does matter.”

Nayeon has nothing to say to that, but the exchange does remind her of something. It takes a few minutes for Nayeon to work out how to fit the words in her mouth together, but eventually: “Why didn’t you take Sana’s offer? You could’ve frozen me and taken off to go join people who hate the Agency as much as you do.”

Jeongyeon chuckles. “It’s a good question, isn’t it? Sana’s promises were pretty, but I know where I’m supposed to be.”

“You literally hate the Agency.”

“I do, but I don’t hate what I’m doing here with you.” A sigh. “We’re going after a bad man. I’m doing it with people that I trust to do the job well. Hopefully after this I can retire.”

Nayeon doesn’t have much to say to that. They both know Triunes are rarely ever released from service without being blanked or dying. A few more minutes pass, more and more of the road disappearing under their car.

“You know,” Jeongyeon says, “if you ignore the fact that we’re both bleeding, this is kind of like a fun road trip.”

Laughter bursts from Nayeon. It’s painful but welcome. “Yeah, exactly like that. Later today we’ll stay at a shitty motel and make plans to stop at a breakfast place that makes ‘The World’s Greatest Coffee’.”

She can see Jeongyeon’s grin out of the corner of her eye. “Sounds like a plan.”

//

Their debrief with Jihyo is simple. Jeongyeon repeats everything she memorized from the slip of paper and financial documents, explaining that Five Star Medical seems to be the company behind the production and transport of these machines. It’s a company they’re all familiar with, one of the premier medical companies in Japan, and the possibility that it could be a front for something more sinister surprises none of them. 

Jihyo congratulates them on a job well done and requests a few days to do some digging through the Agency’s files and surveillance information. She expresses no surprise at the description of their fight with Sana, nor the fact that Nayeon let her go. She signs off after letting them know that Jeongyeon’s paperwork had been submitted, and that her personal effects would be arriving in a day two or two.

When Jeongyeon gets her things a day later, she tosses most of them away, no longer seeing a need for test answer keys or lesson plan notes. However, one piece of paper stands out. It’s bright pink and covered in a familiar script.

_ Professor Kang, _

_ I’m sorry I had to run. It seems to be something I’m good at, yes? _

_ To the point: I enjoyed my time as your TA. You’re smart, engaging, and I think you make a damn good professor. If you ever change your mind about that job offer…make a few waves. I’ll find you. _

_ Take care of your roommate for me, okay? I’m sorry I never got to meet her. I like to think we’d be friends. _

_ Formerly yours, _

_ Ito Nayeon _

For just a moment, Jeongyeon contemplates sharing the letter with Nayeon, but she knows it would do no good. Instead, she grabs a lighter from the kitchen and finds pleasure in watching the flame burn away Sana’s words.

//

Nayeon doesn’t really think about how strange it might look to her neighbors if they were to look out the window and see her sitting on the roof at 3 a.m. She doesn’t think of much at all as she unlatches her window and slides out onto the roof. All she knows is the disquiet that suffuses her mind, the stifling sensation of being unable to breathe in her own bed. 

Nayeon doesn’t feel like much of anything right now, and the open emptiness of the sky feels like the perfect reflection. She knows each of these constellations, and they bring a tense comfort.

Nayeon feels no surprise when she hears the sounds of someone else joining her on the roof. “Trouble sleeping?”

“Always,” Jeongyeon answers. “I figured you were going to also be awake, so I was coming to see if you wanted middle-of-the-night noodles again. The door was open.”

“I’m not really hungry. But thank you. I appreciate it.” And she really does. They’ve formed a camaraderie, the two of them. Friendship.

Jeongyeon is silent for a long moment. “Are you thinking about what Sana said?” She continues at Nayeon’s questioning hum. “About the stars?”

Nayeon looks up, out into the night sky. She takes in the smattering of stars and the vast amount of space between them. She chuckles. “No. I meant what I said.”

“Back then you wanted Sana. What do you want now?”

“I—” Nayeon takes a breath. She holds it, hesitating. The truth sits on her tongue, a river of words she cannot see the end of. She’d be opening herself up for a finishing blow if Jeongyeon were so inclined. She can already feel the ache in her chest that freeing these words will leave behind, but her encounter with Sana has already left her cracked and bleeding.

Here, under the night sky, where she feels Jeongyeon’s knee pressing ever so lightly into her back, she finds herself absent of fear. 

“I want someone who gives me a reason to laugh, someone to give me a hug when I’m sad or happy or just because they want to.” Her eyes are unfocused now, and the stars blur into streaks of galactic light. “I want someone who sees the worst of me and loves me more for it. I want someone I can be weak with.” Nayeon nods to herself. “I don’t want someone to get me the stars because they’d have to leave me to do it.”

It’s silent for a long moment, the sound of crickets chirping and leaves rustling the only response to Nayeon bearing her heart. “That seems pretty reasonable,” Jeongyeon eventually says. Her voice is barely a whisper, and Nayeon’s lips twitch upwards into a smile. 

“Yeah?” She wants to turn around, see what Jeongyeon is looking at, the expression on her face, the angle of her smile. But she fears that whatever this moment has become will break when they look at each other.

Jeongyeon hums her agreement. “And you think only your soulmate can give you that?”

“Yes.”

“You’ve been in love before, though. Did you not feel that way then?”

Nayeon drags her thumb along the roof, not minding the roughness. “Well clearly they didn’t meet the staying criteria. Soulmates don’t leave.”

Jeongyeon hums again, probably thinking of Dahyun. “Do you think you’d recognize your soulmate from the moment you met them?”

Nayeon shakes her head. “No way. No one does.” 

“Would you want to know that someone is your soulmate before kissing them?”

The question is almost shocking enough to make Nayeon turn around. “No. The surprise is half the fun. Half the romance of it all.”

“I disagree.” Jeongyeon’s voice is light but self-assured. “Wouldn’t it be the ultimate romance to look at someone and know that kissing them will change your entire life and doing it anyway. To say ‘I choose you.’ What’s more romantic than that?”

Overhead, an airplane crosses the sky. The screech of an owl punctures the night.

“I guess…I’ve never really thought about it that way before. I still think total surprise would be best. Besides, how would you ever even be sure enough to know?”

Nayeon can almost see the shrug she knows Jeongyeon does as she speaks. “I just would, I think.”

It’s said with a finality that inspires no response, and the night fills the space between them once more. Nayeon stares at the stars until it feels like she’s looking past them, seeing the full scope of the universe and her insignificance inside it. 

“Jihyo was going to leave.”

Nayeon’s head snaps around this time. Jeongyeon is looking at her blankly, and Nayeon almost believes that she had imagined the words. 

“She was going to leave the Agency for Sana.” So not a hallucination, then. 

“What?”

Jeongyeon gives her a wry smile. “Jihyo was in love. She made plans to defect from the Agency and run away with Sana. All she needed was for Sana to agree. Th—”

“Why are you telling me this?”

Nayeon sees the shrug she had imagined so clearly minutes ago. “It’s your story too, Nayeon.”

“No,” Nayeon breathes, bewildered. “It really isn’t.”

“Yeah, it is.” Jeongyeon scoots closer. “Because by the time Jihyo went to go meet with Sana and tell her everything, Sana had found out the truth. Jihyo showed up on Sana’s doorstep with a suitcase and a rose. Sana told her to fuck off and never show her face again.” Jeongyeon stops to take a breath, and Nayeon is taken with the urge to press closer as to not miss a beat. “So it is your story. Because you met two people who probably had no intention of loving someone again and they let you in. Sana fell in love with you. I’m pretty sure you’re Jihyo’s best friend. Even if it does hurt me to admit it, you must be someone special to pull that off.” 

One more pause, as if Jeongyeon is struggling with whether or not she wants to say the next part. “You’ll find your person, soulmate or not. I believe it.”

Nayeon’s body moves of its own volition, lunging towards Jeongyeon to pull her into a clumsy hug. Her pajama pants snag on the shingles as she moves, and her efforts find her head landing somewhere on Jeongyeon’s chest, arms wrapping around her waist. 

The air that had previously been sitting so peacefully in Jeongyeon’s lungs gets pushed up and out, tapering off into a wheeze that then morphs into a weakly gasped “Hi.”

The next move Jeongyeon makes is a surprising one. Now that Nayeon’s brain is starting to work again, she half expects to be pushed away, but Jeongyeon just drapes her arms around Nayeon’s shoulders. “Don’t expect this to be a regular thing,” Jeongyeon grumbles. “You still irritate the hell out of me.”

Nayeon says nothing, but she can’t help but agree. She shouldn’t really be getting attached enough to her mission partners to be regularly launching herself at them with hugs. She also really shouldn’t be sinking deeper into Jeongyeon’s hold, letting the embrace smooth away the unease that had been plaguing her all night. Tomorrow morning she’ll pull back, reestablish the appropriate distance between them and draw the line at them acknowledging each other as coworkers.

But for now, Jeongyeon smells like her rosewater face wash and her hand is curling tighter around Nayeon’s shoulder and the space between the stars feels a little bit smaller, and Nayeon feels like she’ll be okay after all. 

//

They’re on the couch and halfway through a movie when the call comes, and all it takes is one shared glance for them to both begin making their way towards the basement. 

“Sunah, how’s the cafe?”

“Good,” Nayeon answers, settling down on the weight bench. “Though I don’t fully understand what iambic pentameter has to do with the sun’s orbit.” Jeongyeon snorts out a laugh, and Nayeon returns the smile directed at her. _ Ridiculous _, she mouths, and Jeongyeon rolls her eyes in agreement. 

Jihyo jumps right into it. “I was able to find quite a lot on Five Star Medical. As we all already knew, they’re one of the leading medical supply companies in the area, if not the country. However, I was also able to discover something a bit more interesting. Jeongyeon, please look at the file I just sent your way.”

Jeongyeon unlocks her phone, and Nayeon watches her eyebrows rise higher and higher. She mutters to herself, too faint for Nayeon to make out anything other than an “Interesting.”

“Here,” Jeongyeon says, passing Nayeon her phone. “Take a gander.”

Nayeon smiles briefly at the choice in words before looking down at the phone. It takes a second for Nayeon to understand what she’s looking at. The image on screen is showing a collection of well-dressed people in a ballroom. There’s a bright red circle around one man in particular, and it only takes a second for the face to register. “Oh my god.” She hurriedly zooms the photo out, stopping when she sees a banner hanging along a balcony.

_ 63rd Annual Five Star Winter Gala _

“This means X is directly connected to Five Star.” She can’t help but let a bit of excitement slip into her voice. “Why else would one of his lieutenants be there?”

“Exactly,” Jihyo agrees. “From what Tzuyu and I have been able to gather, Five Star Medical is largely an above board company, but it seems that backroom deals are agreed upon during this event. In other pictures I scrubbed through from various years, I was able to identify several other members of X’s team, as well as a handful of other…. illicit individuals. It seems like this gala doubles as a black market networking event.”

“When’s the next gala?”

Jihyo sighs. “That’s both the good news and the bad news. This photo is from the most recent event, which took place in November.”

“November?” Jeongyeon’s voice cracks. “That’s like 7 months from now. How is that good news?” Nayeon can’t help but agree with the distress in Jeongyeon’s voice.

“Well,” Jihyo begins wryly, “if you’ll remember, I did tell both of you this mission could take about 2 years.”

“You did,” Nayeon says. “But I don’t think either of us thought we’d be sitting around and waiting to infiltrate a gala. There must be work we can do in the interim. Take out some labs? Flush out more members of his group?”

“You two should know by now that this job is never as simple as waiting around.” Jeongyeon’s phone vibrates, and Nayeon looks down to see another message from Jihyo. 

She opens the attached file. “A resume?”

Jeongyeon looks over Nayeon’s shoulder and reaches down to flick to the next page of the document. “Application for territory manager?”

“We can’t have you just breaking into the gala and skulking around.” Jihyo’s voice is firmer now. “When getting this close to X, everything needs to go seamlessly. You two need to be able to move freely around the gala, which means you need to be invited.”

Jeongyeon takes a seat next to Nayeon on the weight bench, taking Nayeon’s phone from her hand and bringing her face closer to it. “So new identities then? Tell me what you’re thinking, Park.”

“I have several ideas at this point, Agent Yoo.” Nayeon blinks at the almost-teasing tone in Jihyo’s voice. Just when she thinks she has an understanding of Jeongyeon and Jihyo’s relationship, they do shit like this. “The identities need to be ones that can be around each other without question. In addition, the invites to Five Star’s gala are quite exclusive. They’re only given to long-term clients and well-performing employees. We need at least one of you to be one of those.”

“And employee is the easiest,” Nayeon states, looking at the resume more closely. Looking at the requirements, it’s clear which one of them this is for. “You want me to put my master’s degree to work?”

“I think it would be a good change of pace from barista, don’t you?”

“Question.” Jeongyeon turns to face her, knees knocking into Nayeon’s. “Are you better at business than you are at making coffee, because if not—”

“Yah!” Nayeon slaps her shoulder. “I’ve made you dozens of coffees while we’ve been here, Yoo Jeongyeon. Don’t be ungrateful.”

“Okay yes, but didn’t you notice I always got the same thing? It’s because you freak out around hot milk, and your latte art sucks.”

“How dare you?”

“Ladies.” Jihyo’s voice cuts in, and with a flush, Nayeon remembers that she’s in the middle of a mission briefing. Jeongyeon smirks.

“Sorry, sorry,” Jeongyeon says, waving her hands in the air. “So you want Nayeon to get a job at Five Star as a territory manager?”

“I do, and they’re fortunately hiring right now.”

Nayeon has a feeling she knows what that means. “Is it just luck, or did something slide in our favor?”

Silence. 

“I can’t confirm anything, but I will say that it’s rather unfortunate that the old territory manager won a decent sum in the lottery and decided to quit.”

Nayeon and Jeongyeon both let out short laughs. “How is it so easy for your powers to rig the lottery, but you can’t just make it so that X bumps into us on the street,” Jeongyeon asks.

Jihyo sighs. “There are way too many probability threads I’d have to pull for that. It’s quite simple to just make it so a different number pops up for the lottery. We’re going to have to do this the old fashioned way. We have a bit more time, so take the week to work out the identities, Jeongyeon. We’ll talk in a few.”

“Can do. And tell Tzuyu I said hi, alright?”

“I will. Do the same for my favorite feline.”

The call ends, and Jeongyeon turns to face Nayeon, giving her a look that Nayeon doesn’t exactly love. Jeongyeon releases a deep sigh. “In truth, Nayeon, there’s really only one avenue that works here.”

“Okay…” Nayeon raises a brow. “Should I be worried about how sad you look right now?”

Jeongyeon releases a tired chuckle. “No, no. It’s just that I’d forgotten how tiresome cover stories could be.” Nayeon watches her rap her knuckles against the edge of the weight bench for several moments. “Can you do me a favor and pull up Five Star’s website. I want to show you something. Have you poked around much?”

“A bit.” Nayeon brings up the website, gesturing for Jeongyeon to continue. 

“I was looking at it this morning during breakfast, and I noticed something. Click the menu and go to the mission statement.”

She does.

“Count the number of times the word family is used.”

She does.

“Twelve? Wait no. Thirteen.”

“Now look at their newsletters. Notice something in common about all of the featured photos?”

Nayeon skims through them, quickly arriving at the conclusion she knows Jeongyeon wants her to. Every single photo seems to be comprised of an employee and their family. Some have kids, some don’t, but it’s clear that there’s an image this company is committed to. It’s admittedly a good cover for any criminal activity. This isn’t Nayeon’s first time running an undercover operation, and she knows what their best path forward is. 

They need to be able to interact without question. The company is big on family. Nayeon has the knowledge to work in a position that could give her access to key information; Jeongyeon does not. 

“We can be siblings,” she offers weakly. She can already feel the stress settling around her shoulders. 

Jeongyeon laughs, muffling herself when she drags her hands over her face. She lets out one last sigh before turning to face Nayeon with a smile that is equal parts remorseful and playful. “How do you feel about getting married?” 

And there it is. Nayeon groans. “Well, first of all, I would never accept a proposal this lame. Second, are you sure there isn’t another route?”

Jeongyeon fixes her with a look. “You know there isn’t. I find undercover marriage ops as unfortunate as you do, especially with how long this is going to be, but it’s the safest option. We’ll make it work.”

“Of course we will,” Nayeon says. “It’s us, and we’re good at our jobs. The whole married and in love thing just always adds another layer of stress. We’ll need to rehearse stories. We’ll also need to practice our body language and our language itself. Everything, really.”

“Yeah,” Jeongyeon sighs. “We’ll also need to do a few photo shoots. I can edit the metadata and put them on new social media profiles. And— You know what.” Jeongyeon stands. “We can talk about this tomorrow. I need another day to process all the shit we’re going to have to do, let alone that I’m going to be playing your trophy wife.”

Now Nayeon is well and truly surprised. “Oh is that how this is going to go?” 

Jeongyeon shrugs, visibly exhausted. “Maybe. Probably. We can talk more tomorrow.”

“Sure. I have one request, though.” Jeongyeon looks at her, waiting. “I want to choose my own name.”

“Oh yeah.” Jeongyeon waves her hand in the air. “That’s not a problem.” Nayeon nods, satisfied, and Jeongyeon begins to make her way up the stairs. “Just make sure your last name isn’t ugly. We will be sharing it after all.”

With that and a laugh, Jeongyeon is gone, leaving Nayeon to scoff to herself and wonder if she’s willing to cut off her nose to spite her face and go with something absolutely atrocious.

That night, Jeongyeon hums the wedding march in the middle of their spar, and Nayeon takes great pleasure in suplexing her into the mat. Jeongyeon just laughs, humming louder once she regains her breath. Nayeon can’t help but join her, taken by just how ridiculous the next 7 months are inevitably going to be. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI!!!! I hope you enjoyed this chapter and all the developments within it! And if you're reading this while the story is still in progress: thank you so much for all of your patience and support. Means the world! =]
> 
> Catch me @2yeonaus if you'd like. Executive Produced/ Beta'd by [(dubfu)](https://twitter.com/heartshooketh)


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